Eye of the Serpent
by Taney
Summary: The war with Wutai has ended, the once proud nation brought to its knees by the might of SOLDIER. But not all Wutanese are content to wear the yoke of Shinra, and even the general of SOLDIER himself must determine exactly where his loyalties lie... Sephiroth x OC
1. Chapter One

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own FF7.**

**Author's note:** This story takes place about **seven years** before the start of FF7 and is based only on the events in the original game (i.e., this story may not be consistent with Before Crisis or Crisis Core). This fic will eventually feature a **Sephiroth x OC** pairing, but before you click the "back" button, let me assure you that you won't find any Mary Sues here. Also, please take the **M rating seriously** as this story contains violence, swearing, and adult content. Now, enjoy my take on the military occupation of Wutai!

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

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><p>"<em>Burn it to the ground."<em>

President Shinra's last orders echoed in Sephiroth's mind as he watched the smoke rise up in dark, heavy clouds. He remembered the greasy smile on Shinra's face as he'd patted him on the shoulder and walked away, Heidegger laughing in tow.

"_Gya haa haa haa! Congratulations on your promotion, _General_."_

Sephiroth's gloved hand clenched into a fist at his side, the flames from the valley below mirrored in his eyes. Beneath the din of gunfire and destructive magic, he could hear the screams of women and children as they burned alive in their homes. And beneath that still, the keening cries of those outside in the streets, suffering an even worse fate at the hands of his men…

_His _men. The knowledge left a bitter taste in Sephiroth's mouth. He had long desired to command, to lead the SOLDIER elite into glorious battle. But _this_…there was no glory in this slaughter.

"It seems the reinforcements have arrived," a voice said smoothly behind him.

"Reinforcements," Sephiroth scoffed, not bothering to turn. "You mean the army."

The general's Mako-enhanced eyes followed the course of the Wutanese soldiers as they advanced from the west. Emblazoned with the serpent Leviathan, their pale blue banners lashed in the wind, as if the images of the water god had come to life and were writhing in their fury.

"Call them what you will," the man replied calmly, moving forward to stand at Sephiroth's side. "Either way, they're too little and too late."

Sephiroth glanced at the black-suited figure standing next to him. A rookie still, yet he'd already distinguished himself enough for Sephiroth to know his name.

"Tseng of the Turks," the general greeted dryly. "I suppose I should thank you."

The man gave a casual shrug, a lock of dark hair falling from his shoulder. "A few wrong words in the right ear, that was all. The city of Ijin lies directly in the path of the capitol, so it seemed the logical target for the next assault. The Wutanese had no reason to suspect that the might of Shinra would be directed at a remote mountain village, so far removed from the center of the conflict."

_No_, Sephiroth thought, his eyes returning to the fires below. _They had suspected nothing. _

"The only men left to defend the valley of Jien were the old and infirm," Sephiroth mused aloud. "All the rest had been drafted to fortify Ijin and the city of Wutai. Not to mention the number of women and children residing in Jien had been severely inflated by evacuees from the cities."

Tseng turned to him, a sly smile on his face. "When you put it that way, Jien sounds like much less of a random target, doesn't it?"

But Sephiroth had known this from the start. After Wutai's most recent defeat, the president had offered Lord Godo Kisaragi the chance to surrender. When Kisaragi had bluntly refused, Shinra's objective had changed. The president no longer intended to merely defeat the people of Wutai.

He meant to destroy them.

"My promotion to the rank of general was not a mere coincidence," Sephiroth reflected, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. "The president wanted to distance the Shinra name from this massacre as much as possible. Let SOLDIER be the one directly responsible for the butchering, as opposed to the Shinra army itself."

"Do you really think that's how the Wutanese will remember it?" Tseng asked, glancing sideways at Sephiroth. "They won't remember the looting, the rapes, or the killings—not after long, not in any more than a vague sense. No, what they'll remember is the way smoke seemed to fill the entire sky as the whole valley went up in flames. It's the fire they'll remember." The corner of his lip rose slightly as he met Sephiroth's gaze. "And, of course, the one who started it."

Sephiroth's expression hardened. "I did only what was required of me."

Tseng sighed, turning away from the edge of the cliff, heading back towards the line of tents. "As do we all."

The young general gazed out at the smoldering ruin of Jien. The screaming in his ears had yet to cease.

"This is not how a war should be won," he said quietly.

"No, General," Tseng agreed, surprising him.

As Sephiroth looked back, a shadow seemed to pass over the Turk's features, steeling them. The eyes that held the general's were flinty and cold.

"But it is how this war is won."

Without further pause, he returned to the compound, leaving Sephiroth alone on the precipice. Below, in what remained of the valley, the Wutanese troops had begun to engage his men.

Unsheathing the buster sword strapped to his back, Sephiroth made his descent through the sooty haze, eager to face, at last, the warriors of Wutai.

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><p>Night had fallen over the valley of Jien, yet still the battle raged on as the men of Wutai fought desperately to hold their line against the inhuman force that was SOLDIER. The ground churned beneath the warriors' feet, more blood than mud now, as lightning and fire lit the sky and illuminated the faces of the dead.<p>

"Commander, we have to fall back!" a large man yelled to his right, deflecting a barrage of ice crystals with his naginata. His left eye gleamed darkly, wet with blood. "We cannot hold much longer!"

The commander only grit his teeth in anger, whirling away from the bullets aimed at his head. Tightening his grip on the hilt of his katana, he rushed the blue-clad infantryman who'd fired the shots, cutting him down with ease. It was not because of men like this that Wutai was losing the battle.

Blood sliding down the length of his blade, the commander turned his eyes to the south, where the men of SOLDIER were mowing down his troops like stalks of grass. Their eyes glowed in the darkness, a blasphemy of nature. And in the center of the carnage stood their captain—Sephiroth, the Mad Dog of Shinra, his green eyes blazing poison as he blasted through the ranks of the commander's finest men.

_No_, _we cannot hold_, the commander thought wearily, brushing away the strands of dark hair that clung to his sweaty brow. _And yet, somehow, we must._

He thought back to the scene that had met his eyes upon their arrival to Jien. The countless women lying naked in the dirt, their eyes glassy and unblinking, their thighs stained with blood. He thought of the children whose skulls had been smashed to pieces against the doors and walls of their homes. In his mind, the victims' faces had all been transformed, becoming those of his own precious sister, his own little cousin.

How could men commit such crimes? How could they still stand breathing under the weight of such dishonor?

_Because they are __not__ men, _the commander decided, the red materia in his armlet beginning to glow. _They are monsters_.

With a deafening roar, the water god Leviathan appeared in his earthly form, a winged serpent of massive size, hovering above the conflagration. The Shinra infantrymen fled in terror, but the SOLDIERs leading the attack remained, plunging their giant broadswords into the ground as Sephiroth cast a barrier around them.

Silence fell as the gigantic serpent gathered its strength, releasing it in a torrent of waves that swept through the enemy line, extinguishing the fires and crashing against Sephiroth's barrier. Under the force of the assault, the barrier warped and weakened before shattering altogether, but it had absorbed the brunt of the damage. Clutching the swords they'd half buried for support, the SOLDIERs rode out the rest of the attack, leaving the commander cursing as his last hope for victory ebbed away with the tide.

"Commander Kisaragi!"

Slowly, as if in a daze, the commander turned. Numbed by his failure, it took Kisaragi a few moments to realize that the man rushing towards him was Shiro, his longtime friend and the officer he'd charged with the task of securing reinforcements from the warhost at Ijin. Faintly, hope rose within him again.

"Shiro!" Kisaragi shouted as he began to run towards the man, too impatient for an answer to simply wait where he stood. He stumbled slightly in the mud. "What news from Ijin?"

As Shiro shook his head, Commander Kisaragi felt his heart plummet in his chest. "There'll be no aid from Ijin, sir. Commander Jho refuses to send reinforcements."

Kisaragi's disappointment turned swiftly to anger. Enraged, he grabbed Shiro by his metal chest plate, shaking him.

"What do you mean, he refuses? Is he mad? My outpost at Rana had only five hundred men, three hundred of whom now lie dead. We cannot hope to prevail against SOLDIER on our own—surely my uncle must realize that, even if Jho is too much of a fool to see it. You'll have to petition my uncle directly—do it _now_, damn you," Kisaragi snarled, releasing Shiro with a shove.

Shiro reeled back, struggling to maintain his footing. "But, sir," he began, his voice hesitant as he addressed his commander, "it was Lord Godo himself who forbade Commander Jho from sending his troops to Jien."

Kisaragi's breath drew short. It felt as though his lungs had filled suddenly with ice. Comprehension dawned even as he managed to frame the question.

"What…what are you saying?"

Shiro swallowed, his eyes anxious as he regarded his friend. "Lord Godo has decided to surrender, sir. He has commanded you and your men to fall back."

For a while, Kisaragi simply stood there in the waning darkness, saying nothing. His mind was reeling from this news, and while every fiber of his being screamed at him in protest, he knew that, ultimately, he had no choice but to follow orders.

"Fetch the white banners," he said tonelessly to Shiro, "and tell my men to fall back. That's an order."

Kisaragi strode forward, brushing past Shiro, who looked after him in concern. "But, Haru—I mean, sir…where are you going?"

"North," Haru Kisaragi called back, his grey eyes simmering with cold rage. "To the capitol."

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><p>Beneath the shade of a towering willow sat a young woman, her back resting lightly against the tree trunk as she thumbed through the pages of a worn red book. Her legs were folded to the side, the silken hem of her lavender kimono pooling in the grass. As she read, her grey eyes narrowed in concentration, her long dark hair hanging over her shoulder in a loose braid, a jade comb glittering above each ear. Reaching a favorite passage, she smiled, while a gentle breeze swept through the garden, jostling the veil of willow leaves and ruffling the corners of the pages.<p>

"Yumi! Yumi, watch me!"

The young woman looked up from her book, peering through a gap in the willow branches. A short distance away stood her little cousin, a girl of nine years. After catching Yumi's eye, the girl grinned, assuming a fighting stance. With a nod from her instructor Gorky, she withdrew a small shuriken from a pouch at her waist and flung it at a wooden post twenty feet away. The shuriken hit the post with a dull thud, two of its points sinking deeply into the wood. The child whooped in victory.

"Well done, Yuffie!" Yumi exclaimed, beaming. "You're a natural."

"Yes, well done," Gorky said, his own smile hidden beneath the droop of his greying mustache. "I suppose that will be all for today."

Yumi watched as Yuffie bowed hastily to her instructor before bounding over to the willow tree, breathless with excitement.

"Didja see how deep the blades went in?" her cousin panted. "I almost split the post in half, huh?"

"That post has definitely seen better days," Yumi replied with a grin.

Yuffie giggled, plopping down next to her cousin in the soft grass.

"Y'know, old man Gorky says that I remind him a lot of you, Yumi," her cousin said suddenly, looking up at her with large brown eyes. "Why won't you spar anymore? I used to love watching you beat up the boys."

Yumi's smile faltered. "I've told you, Yuffie. I'm done with the ninja arts."

"But why?" the girl demanded. "You never gave a reason."

Through the willow's swaying branches, Yumi gazed out at the practice yard. It had been three years now since she'd held a katana in her hands. She could scarcely remember how it felt.

"Sometimes, our interests change, Yuffie. There's not always a reason behind it," she said, looking at her cousin kindly. "One day, I wanted to fight; the next day, I didn't. It's as simple as that."

Yuffie glared at her, her arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah? Well I still don't believe you."

Yumi sighed, marking the page in her book before she rose to her feet.

"It must be time for lunch by now," she said, brushing the grass blades from her dress before starting back towards the palace. "Let's go, Yuffie."

Her cousin made a disgruntled noise, but after a few moments, Yumi could hear footsteps padding behind her.

_One day, she'll stop asking,_ Yumi told herself as they crossed the threshold, entering the broad, cool hallway beyond.

Kisaragi Palace was a sprawling estate, consisting of many separate buildings. Today, they would dine in the Lightning Pagoda, which bordered the practice yard. As they reached the end of the main hall, Yumi noticed a large group of servants and guards standing close together, talking in excited whispers.

"What are they whispering about?" Yuffie asked, regarding the group curiously.

Before Yumi could inquire, the screen doors of the dining hall slid open with a violent snap, and her mother's face appeared, her dark eyes flashing. Shooting an angry glare in the servants' direction, the tiny woman hurried over to Yumi and her cousin, the streaks of grey in her black hair gleaming silver in the lantern light.

"Auntie Saya!" Yuffie yelled happily, running up to her. "You shoulda seen me in the yard this morning! I struck the post five times—the far one, too. Yumi says I'm a natural, dontcha, Yumi?"

Yumi didn't reply. Unlike her younger cousin, she could see that her mother was greatly distressed. A strong sense of foreboding gripped her as she stepped forward, ignoring Yuffie's indignant huff.

"Mama, what's wrong?" she asked, frowning. "Has…has something happened at Rana?"

Saya shook her head, kneeling down so that she was at eye level with her niece. "Yuffie, dear, why don't you go ahead into the dining hall? I need to speak with Yumi alone for a few minutes."

Yuffie hesitated, looking uncertainly between them. After a moment, she gave a small nod and ran off.

As Saya straightened, Yumi grasped her mother's hands, her eyes fearful.

"Mama," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "is Haru…is he—"

"Not now," her mother said sternly, cutting her off. Turning back to the servants, she raised her voice. "Don't you have work to attend to?"

The whispering suddenly stopped, and the servants and guards scattered, looking abashed. When the hall was finally clear, Saya took Yumi by the arm, leading her over to a small wooden bench where they sat.

"Yumi," her mother began uncertainly, "there was a terrible attack yesterday on the valley of Jien."

"Jien?" Yumi repeated, her brow wrinkling in confusion. "Why would the Shinra army attack Jien? There's nothing there but rice and goats."

"It wasn't the Shinra army, Yumi," her mother continued, her lips drawn into a thin line. "It was SOLDIER, led by that demon Sephiroth. He set the whole valley ablaze. A valley that was full of women and children with no men to protect them…"

As her mother trailed off, Yumi felt her stomach twist into knots. She didn't need Saya to tell her what had happened to the people of Jien. She knew what beasts men could be, and, if the tales were true, Shinra's SOLDIERs were already more monster than man.

"Your brother and his men must have seen the smoke from their outpost at Rana. They alone marched to defend Jien," her mother said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "He had only five hundred men at his command. Five hundred…against the forces of SOLDIER."

Yumi's nose began to burn. "Why did they fight alone? Why didn't Uncle send more men to aid them?"

Her mother looked away, her eyes brimming. "When word of the massacre at Jien reached your uncle, he decided to surrender. By that time, over three hundred of Haru's men had died."

Yumi rose abruptly from the bench, turning away. Her back was rigid, her hands balled into fists.

"And what of my brother?" she asked slowly, too terrified to look at the expression on her mother's face.

"Missing," her mother replied, after what seemed an eternity of silence. "However, Shiro reported that he was headed north."

Yumi's spine relaxed, her shoulders sagging as she collapsed to the bench.

"Haru…he survived," she exhaled in relief.

Her mother nodded tearfully, embracing her. "And he's coming home."

Later that night, alone in her bedroom, Yumi stood at the window, gazing toward the south. Held close to her heart was the worn red book.

_Is it wrong that I should feel so happy when my people are drowning in sorrow? _

She thought of the innocent women and children of Jien, who had been treated so mercilessly by SOLDIER. Now Jien was no more than a blackened scar upon the earth, all evidence of its people's suffering erased by the flames. Perhaps that was a mercy, in a way.

_Wutai is a fallen nation_, she thought sadly. _So many men have died pointless deaths. So many others too. And, yet, my heart is light. _

She thought of her brother's smiling face, of seeing him stride through the palace gates and never having to fear that he would soon leave again to face the perils of war.

_Yes, I am selfish_. She bowed her head, her eyes closing softly. _But the war is over. _

_At least now there will be peace._

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><p><strong>An:** Thanks for reading! Please review!


	2. Chapter Two

**DISCLAIMER: Still don't own.  
><strong>

**Author's note: **Longer chapter this time. Also, **language and** **adult content warning**. ...Enjoy! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

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><p>Every morning for the next three days, Yumi Kisaragi waited by the palace gates, hoping to greet her brother the moment he returned home. She strained her eyes towards the Sleeping Dragon, the red many-arched bridge that linked the grounds of the royal estate to the city of Wutai. Beneath the Dragon flowed Da-Chao's mighty river, which wound through the capitol like a silver ribbon—a symbol of the gods' unceasing love and faithfulness.<p>

In her heart, Yumi thanked them again for protecting Haru during the battle at Jien. How fervently she had prayed for his safe return, and any minute now, she thought, she would see him striding towards her on the bridge, sunlight gleaming from his armor. More than herself, Yumi knew how desperately her mother wished to see him, to know that he still belonged to this world. Her family had shed enough tears three years ago; now was the time for them to smile, to laugh. To be together.

But Haru had not returned the first morning, nor the second, nor even the third. It was custom for warriors to arrive home at dawn, with the rising sun at their backs. Only those who had disgraced themselves in battle returned at night. Yumi knew her brother was no coward; he would arrive with the dawn.

Today was the fourth day of Yumi's wait, but again she had been disappointed. Just to be certain, she had remained by the gates until well past noon, yet still her eyes had not been able discern her brother's form. With a sigh, she'd finally turned, making her way back to the Fire Pagoda.

_Tomorrow, then,_ she thought as the pagoda's sweeping entrance came into view.

The two guards at the door nodded to her respectfully as she entered, but the foyer was so crowded with uniformed men that she could barely squeeze through.

"Watch it, girl," a man growled at her when she accidentally elbowed him in the side. He looked to be around forty years old, a rust-colored bandage wrapped around what remained of his left arm.

"Forgive me," Yumi said, bowing her head slightly before she attempted to continue on towards her room.

Quick as a snake, the man's right hand shot out, seizing her by the shoulder and wrenching her around. He brought his face level with her own.

"You little bitch," he breathed, his small black eyes glinting beneath his sagging brow, "turning up your nose at me, are you?"

Shaking her head, Yumi tried to back away from his sour breath. "You're mistaken. I wasn't—"

"I know what you did," he snarled, cutting her off. "I know who you are too. You're Godo's little niece."

Yumi's eyes narrowed.

"If you know who I am, then you must be a complete fool to speak to me in this way."

"A fool?" His sudden bark of laughter drew the eyes of the other men. "Yes, I suppose I am. But I lost my arm defending your precious cunt from the Shinra." The man hauled her closer, his hand slipping from her shoulder to her breast, pinching her roughly through the fabric of her kimono. "I think I deserve some compensation."

Before Yumi could react, a fist flew from the left, slamming into the man's jaw with a sickening crack. He released her, and she staggered back as the man's attacker threw him to the floor and drove a boot into his ribs.

"You disgusting piece of filth," the attacker seethed, sliding his katana beneath the man's quivering jaw. "Lord Godo will hear of this, make no mistake."

Recovered somewhat from her assault, Yumi took a step forward at the sound of her savior's voice.

"Shiro?" she said softly.

The warrior turned, sliding his katana into the sheath tied at his hip. As his brown eyes met her own, the fire in them dwindled.

"Lady Yumi, please allow me to escort you to your quarters."

Yumi nodded, and the two of them advanced towards the great maple staircase at the back of the foyer, the crowd of soldiers parting silently before them. As soon as they rounded the corner of the landing, Yumi threw her arms around Shiro, hugging him fiercely, the steel of his breastplate cool against her burning cheek.

"Gods I've missed you, Shiro," she said tremulously, blinking away her tears. "So much has changed in such a short time."

Shiro patted her hair awkwardly with a gloved hand, his other arm slung across her shoulders. "Don't worry, Yumi. Haru and I will be here for you, just like we always have."

Gently, Yumi withdrew from him, her grey eyes warm as they found his.

"You're a good friend, Shiro—to me and Haru both. Knowing you would be by his side when he went to battle was the only thing that kept me from losing my mind." She smiled slightly. "What I mean to say is that I doubt Haru's survival at Jien and your presence there were mere coincidences. I know how stubborn my brother can be, especially in the face of defeat."

Shiro looked away, his cheeks coloring. "You give me too much credit."

"No," Yumi said seriously, taking his gloved hands in hers. "If anything, I'm sure I give you too little. But I won't argue with you about it. When Haru returns, I'll just ask him directly."

Her friend glanced at her in confusion. "Haru hasn't returned to Wutai?"

"To the city, perhaps. But to the palace, no," Yumi answered in a weary tone. "I can't help but think he's holed up in a bar somewhere, brooding over his drink."

Shiro removed his plated helmet, frowning as he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair in the same way he always did when he was troubled. "I should go look for him then." He turned to Yumi. "You should be fine now. I'll tell the guards to keep Jho's troops out of the Fire Pagoda…if…well, if that's your command, of course," he faltered, fidgeting with his helmet.

"That is most certainly my command," Yumi replied with a wry smile. "Thank you, Shiro."

As she watched her friend disappear around the corner, Yumi remembered his comment about the soldiers in the foyer being Commander Jho's men, and her smile quickly withered. After his surrender, Lord Godo had called his commanders back to the capitol, offering the highest ranking officers and their families quarter in the Fire Pagoda. Commander Jho had arrived at the palace this morning, his daughter Minnea in tow.

Although Yumi considered the girl a friend, she wasn't particularly thrilled about the prospect of sharing a bedroom with her. But space was scarce, and her uncle would trust her to be a gracious host. The poor man was burdened enough with quarrelsome commanders and the task of surrender itself; Yumi would not add to his troubles by complaining about his guest.

Yumi's chambers were on the second highest floor of the Fire Pagoda. As she passed through the halls of polished wood and climbed the ancient stairs, she braced herself for the encounter with Minnea. When Jho's daughter had arrived this morning, Yumi had been at her vigil by the palace gates and had yet to actually greet the girl who must now be occupying her own rooms. Knowing Minnea, Yumi didn't doubt that she had already made herself quite at home.

The scene that met Yumi's eyes as she slid back the screen door to her bedroom immediately confirmed her suspicions. The furniture had been rearranged, and boxes upon boxes of clothing and jewelry were scattered across the floor. A gauzy dress of fine green silk was flung carelessly over the back of Yumi's favorite chair, three pairs of silver sandals resting on the seat, as if Minnea hadn't been able to decide which pair she liked best.

In the sitting room adjacent to Yumi's bedroom, Minnea's little white dog named Lily had taken up residence. The dog lay upon a bed of red velvet in the center of the room, surrounded by treats and toys. As Yumi entered, Lily paused in her task of shredding a pillow from one of the couches—a pillow that Yumi's own great grandmother had sewn by hand.

"Lily, drop it," Yumi snapped, stalking towards the tiny dog.

Lily clenched the pillow tighter between her jaws, growling as Yumi approached her. When Yumi drew close enough to yank the pillow away, Lily rounded on her, her small sharp teeth piercing the girl's wrist like a set of needles. Yumi bit back a cry of pain, blood welling from the punctures.

"_No_," she said sharply, popping Lily on the rump with her uninjured hand. "Bad dog!"

Lily yelped from the light slap and ran to the bedroom. As Yumi stood there, wrapping her hair ribbon around her bleeding wrist, she heard a high voice coming from the direction of her bedroom.

"Lily! What's wrong? Why are you so frightened?"

Suppressing her irritation with difficulty, Yumi retraced her steps and found Minnea standing in the threshold of the large bedroom closet, cradling Lily in her arms. Two years older than Yumi, Minnea was tall and shapely, her long honey-colored hair twisted in an elaborate braid that cascaded down her back. Sapphires glittered at her ears and throat, her cream and blue silk kimono clinging provocatively to her curves. Even bluer than her dress, her eyes shone with delight when she finally noticed Yumi standing in the bedroom with her.

"Yumi!" Minnea exclaimed, Lily dropping unceremoniously from her arms as they folded around Yumi in a warm, heavily-perfumed embrace. "It's been too long!" As she drew back, her eyes widened in alarm at the blood-soaked ribbon binding her friend's wrist. "Oh no! Yumi dear, you're hurt! Have you been playing at swords again?"

"No," Yumi replied in a carefully controlled tone, glancing at Lily. "Your dog bit me."

"Lily?" Minnea said, aghast. "That can't be. She's such a gentle puppy—everyone says so. You must have frightened her, that's all."

Before Yumi could reply, Minnea had taken her good wrist and was dragging her towards her own closet. The closet was half the size of her bedroom, with shelves that reached all the way to the ceiling. Though Yumi had never been able to fill half of them herself, Minnea had more than made up the difference, and gowns, shoes, jewels and perfume bottles covered every inch of available space.

"You must tell me what you think of this dress, Yumi," her friend said as she rooted through one of the lower shelves, retrieving a red silk kimono, slashed with orange. "I was thinking of wearing it tomorrow, but it may be too bold…"

"It's fine," Yumi said dismissively. "Minnea—"

"On the other hand, there's this one," Minnea babbled on obliviously, withdrawing a more traditional aquamarine dress with a floral pattern in silver thread. "It's a little boring for my taste, but Father bought it for me only a week ago, and I haven't had the chance to wear it yet." Holding a dress in each hand, she turned at last to Yumi, her sapphire eyes glinting mischievously. "Well, Yumi, which one do you think will catch Sephiroth's eye?"

Yumi blinked. "Sephiroth? The leader of Shinra's SOLDIERs?"

"Yes, yes," Minnea said impatiently, frowning when Yumi still only looked at her in confusion. "You mean you haven't heard the news? Father told me this morning that a delegation from Shinra will be arriving tomorrow to negotiate the terms of surrender with Lord Godo."

"…I see," Yumi responded quietly.

"Father expects General Sephiroth will be among the members of the delegation," Minnea continued dreamily. "They say he stands eight feet tall, with hair and eyes that glow like fire. Can you imagine?"

"Yes, I can imagine," Yumi said, a bit more coldly than she'd intended. "Your 'General Sephiroth' massacred the women and children of Jien. Or have you already forgotten?"

Minnea shook her head sadly.

"What happened at Jien was a terrible tragedy, to be sure. But, Yumi, to _think_ that one man single-handedly set the entire valley aflame…such power is truly _terrifying_," she said with a shiver, not looking the least bit afraid.

Yumi said nothing in reply, her fingers idly tracing the ribbon around her left wrist, its silken fabric stiff with dried blood.

"Here," Minnea said after a long contemplation, thrusting the aquamarine kimono into Yumi's arms. "I've decided to wear the red one. You can have the other—it suits you!"

Mumbling her thanks, Yumi left the closet, her eyes drawn to the setting sun that blazed through her large bedroom window. The smooth fabric of the dress bunched as her fingers tightened unconsciously.

"Haru," she whispered to no one, "where are you?"

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><p>Haru despised this place.<p>

The smell of incense hung heavily in the air, a heady fragrance that burned his nose and smothered his lungs like a velvet cushion. Yet beneath the thick haze of scent he could always detect the acrid stench of sweat and seed. It clung to the gaudy couches, the excessively tasseled pillows, the red silks that draped the lamps and lanterns, casting the room in a dull, sinful glow.

Draining another cup of sake, he grasped the woman before him by the hips, driving into her from behind with a sharp, smooth thrust. She gasped at the sudden intrusion, her muscles fluttering around him, tearing a ragged groan from his lips. Roughly, he angled her hips down so that he could penetrate her more deeply and established a harsh, steady rhythm.

"You're so eager this time, my lord," she panted, looking back at him with sly dark eyes.

"Keep your head down," Haru replied on a breath. "I don't want to see your face."

"I know," the woman murmured sulkily, returning her gaze to the carpeted floor.

Holding her flush against him with one hand, Haru reached for her hair with the other. It was the only thing he liked about her, the only reason he had continued to single her out from the other whores. The long dark strands flowed through his fingers like cool water. Like a thousand tendrils of guilt.

He closed his eyes against the flood of sensation, reveling in the feel of her hair, the tight wet warmth of her sex. Returning both hands to her hips, he increased his pace, pounding into her with abandon, his mind conjuring up images that had never been and would never be, desire and self-disgust building like a storm within him.

With one last thrust, the storm broke, and he rode out the last waves of his bitter release with a jerky rocking of his hips, beads of sweat rolling down his heaving chest. As his cloudy mind began to clear, he withdrew, letting the woman collapse breathlessly to the cushions below.

Still breathing heavily, Haru reclined against one of the plump couches, watching the sun fall through a slit in the heavy velvet curtains. His head ached from too much drink. Sweeping his hair out of his face, he ground the heel of his palm into the space between his eyes, as if he could erase the pain that lay behind them and banish the now-familiar feeling of regret.

It seemed another night would pass before he returned to the palace. When he'd arrived in Wutai two days ago, the sun had long since vanished from the sky, forcing him by custom to wait elsewhere until dawn. Although he'd vowed never to enter Midnight Garden again, as he'd passed by the brothel on his way to an inn, his feet had seemed to turn of their own accord, leading him up the accursed steps and into Loki's bed once more.

"You must be thirsty," she spoke now as she knelt naked at his side, pressing a fresh cup of sake to his lips. As Haru drank, she trailed her fingers down the hard planes of his chest and stomach. "You worked up quite a sweat."

When her hand fell between his legs, Haru grabbed her by the wrist, pushing her back.

"No," he growled, releasing her so abruptly that she crumpled to the floor.

"You're so cruel to me, my lord," she pouted, crawling back to his side a moment later, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Most men are quite happy to let me put my hands wherever I please. And no man besides you has ever found a problem with my face."

_Whores_, Haru thought angrily as he looked at her. _Everything is a game to them._

"There's nothing wrong with your face," Haru answered shortly. "I just don't want to look at it when I fuck you."

In truth, Loki was quite beautiful, with porcelain skin, delicate features and lips as red as blood. The Garden was a pricy establishment, catering to the most wealthy citizens of Wutai. Needless to say, ugly whores had no place here.

Loki laughed. "Oh, Lord Haru, you're too blunt. You'll never have a lover if you don't learn to soften your words." A wicked smile bloomed on her face. "I suppose that's why you keep returning to me."

"No. I keep returning to you because I'm weak," Haru said quietly, his fingertips lightly touching her hair.

"Then I hope you never become strong," Loki purred as she leaned forward, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "You always fuck me like it's your last time. I don't ever want that to end."

Unable to think of a reply, Haru turned his head away, letting Loki climb into his lap. She pushed back his unbound hair and kissed his neck, her smooth thighs spreading open as she lowered herself against him, the tips of her soft breasts grazing his chest. When her lower lips pressed damply against the base of his shaft, Haru's breath caught in his throat.

"Loki…" he protested weakly, shifting.

"Shhh," she soothed, her lips hot on the skin of his shoulder. "Close your eyes, my lord. Just pretend I'm her."

Reluctantly, Haru complied, and she pressed a kiss to each lowered eyelid, guiding his hand between her legs. At the first stroke of his fingers, Loki gave a little cry, bucking against him. Haru pulled her closer at the sound, his fingers weaving through her luxuriant hair as his other hand spread the slick, tender folds of her sex. When the pad of his thumb circled her swollen nub, Loki cried out again.

"Yes, that's it," she moaned, grinding into his palm. "Oh, Lord Haru…"

In his mind, another voice moaned his name, and he stroked her harder, imagining. He could feel her thighs trembling from the strain, her breath coming out in pants as she dug her nails into his arms. As she cried out in her moment of ecstasy, another woman's name tumbled unbidden from Haru's lips, the sound so faint he could not hear it over the beating of his own heart.

He cracked open his eyes as Loki fell against him, the last rays of sunlight revealing glimmers of gold in her otherwise black hair. The wrongness of the color shattered his blissful illusion, agitating him. He shoved her out of his lap.

"Is something wrong, my lord?" she drawled, her sated body sprawled at his side.

"I'm hungry," he said crossly, grasping at the first excuse he could think of to get her out of his sight. "Bring me something to eat."

Sighing, Loki rose slowly to her feet, stretching indolently. She padded over to her bed, shrugging into a red silk robe she'd thrown across the rail. Cinching it closed about her waist, she walked to the screen door, turning back to him as she slid it open.

"Don't think of running away," she teased, glancing suggestively at the lingering hardness between his legs. "You and I have unfinished business."

As she left, Haru breathed deeply, letting his head fall back against the plush arm of the couch. Though he had no love for the gods of Wutai, he prayed that she would not return to drag him back down into the mire of his repulsive lusts.

But a few minutes later he heard the door open and, cursing silently, turned his weary eyes toward the sound. Those same eyes quickly widened when they recognized the person standing in the threshold.

"Shiro?" Haru choked in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Shiro stepped forward into the room, squinting in the dim reddish light. When he saw that Haru was lying naked on the floor, he abruptly turned, ruffling his hair in a nervous gesture that had always grated on Haru's nerves.

"We're leaving, Haru, sir," Shiro said stiffly. "I've paid your bill, so whenever you're—you know—dressed, I suppose…"

Haru rolled his eyes, locating and pulling on his pants quickly so that Shiro would stop sounding so damned uncomfortable.

"You don't have to call me 'sir' anymore, Shiro," Haru grumbled as he tied back his shoulder-length hair with a bit of string. "The war's over."

"I know," Shiro said apologetically, facing Haru once more. "But I'll always think of you as my commander."

"Gods," Haru sighed, shaking his head. "Sometimes I wonder exactly what it is you've got between your legs."

"Well…" Shiro replied slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I guess you'll just have to catch _me_ in a whorehouse to know for sure."

Haru laughed as he plopped down on Loki's bed. "You know, that one wasn't half bad. Maybe after almost twenty years of friendship, my sense of humor is finally starting to rub off on you."

"Yeah, maybe…" Shiro said, his awkwardness suddenly returning.

Haru sighed again. "Listen, Shiro, I'm not leaving the Garden yet. It's a long way off until dawn."

"Yes…but I was thinking you could stay with me at grandpa's place and return to the palace in the morning," Shiro said with an unusual steadiness of voice, making Haru think this argument of his had been rehearsed. "You need to get cleaned up before you go home to your mother and Yumi."

Haru's stony eyes narrowed, shame and anger lancing through him.

"Don't say my sister's name in this place," he said sharply, Shiro visibly wincing at his tone.

"I'm…I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Haru said quickly with a wave, feeling a twinge of guilt. "And, anyway, you're right, Shiro. I can't go home like this."

After a few minutes of searching, Haru assembled the various pieces of his uniform and was fully dressed once more. Securing his two swords to his hip with a broad green sash, he followed Shiro out of the room. At the entrance to the Garden, Loki stood with her arms crossed, her pale breasts nearly spilling out of the opening in her robe. Shiro tensed as the whore's eyes raked over him appreciatively.

"Such a shame you two couldn't stay longer," she said with a smile. "We could have had a lot of fun together."

Haru bit back a laugh at the horrified expression on Shiro's face. Clapping a hand to his friend's shoulder, Haru steered him out the door and into the night.

"I expect I'll be seeing more of you now, Lord Haru," Loki called after them in a ringing voice. "You've no more battles to distract you!"

Behind Shiro, Haru grimaced, suspecting she was right.

It was late by the time they reached Shiro's grandfather's house, a squat little pagoda perched on a hill not far from the palace grounds. They entered to find the old man fast asleep on a couch, a particularly awful book of Wutanese poetry lying open on the wooden floor. At his feet slept his loyal old hound. The dog raised his head at the sound of footsteps, his bleary chocolate eyes blinking slowly. When he finally perceived that the intruders were not a threat, he lowered his head to the cushion once more and within seconds was snoring.

Making his way over to the couch, Shiro gently shook his grandfather's arm.

"Grandpa, wake up. It's Shiro."

After a few moments, the old man began to stir.

"What time is it?" he grunted.

"Uh…I'm not sure."

"No matter, no matter," the old man replied, yawning as he raised himself up.

When his eyes fell upon Haru, his drooping mustache lifted in a smile.

"Well now, it seems we have a guest. How are you this evening, Master Haru?"

"Well enough," Haru responded politely. "And you, Gorky? It's been a while."

"That it has," Gorky agreed, folding his hands into his voluminous blue sleeves. "As for myself, well, I carry on all right. I'm still training your little cousin, you know. The girl has talent to be sure, but she lacks discipline," he added with a shake of his head.

"She'll learn in time, as I did."

"Perhaps," Gorky said, rising from the couch and walking over to the large brazier in the center of the room. With a silver poker, he prodded at the coals, urging the embers into flame. "Then again, perhaps not. Long ago, when I was Master of Arms under your grandfather, I learned to tell the difference between a true warrior and a man who could swing a sword. Let us hope that Yuffie follows in the footsteps of your late father. Never before and never again have I seen a man so skilled in the art of battle."

"You honor me," Haru said respectfully.

"No," Gorky replied brusquely, brandishing the poker at him. "I honor _your_ _father_. You, on the other hand, were always so pig-headed. For years I feared you would never master the sword. Now, your sister…_there_ was a student after my own heart. I saw so much of your father in her," he said wistfully.

"You speak of Yumi as if she's dead."

"The habit of an old man," Gorky said tiredly, the firelight playing across the crinkled skin at the corners of his eyes. "Yet you cannot deny that your sister has changed. All the fire in her left this world along with the soul of your honored father. Now only a timid girl remains." He frowned deeply. "A pity indeed."

Uncharacteristically, it was Shiro's voice that broke the awkward silence.

"Grandpa, is the guest room ready? Haru's very…tired."

"Yes, yes, where are my manners? I'll see to the room."

Before he turned to leave, however, Gorky cast a suspicious glance at Haru.

"You look like you could use a bath," the old man remarked. "Where have you two been?"

"Midnight Garden," Shiro admitted reluctantly, averting his eyes.

Haru could have punched him. The last thing he wanted was word of his exploits getting back to his mother and sister.

"A brothel, eh?" Gorky said, chuckling. "Well, as they say, a man must sow his wild oats. I sowed plenty myself, in my day."

"Grandpa, please," Shiro said, his face reddening.

"What? I haven't always been an old man, though it may be hard for you to imagine. Now, get yourselves to the bath house. I won't have you smelling up the place."

With that, Gorky made his exit, and Shiro and Haru headed for the shed-like building that adjoined the pagoda. Inside was a large wooden tub in the shape of a square, steam rising from surface of the water as it welled up from a hot spring below.

Eagerly, Haru stripped off his dirty clothes and slid into the water with a sigh. Shiro was slower about it, careful to keep his eyes on anything but Haru as he entered the tub. Haru didn't understand his shyness these days. When they were children, they'd used to swim naked together practically every day during the hot summer months. How happy he'd been back then.

"So much has changed," he mused aloud.

"That's funny," Shiro replied, bracing his chin on his knuckles. "Yumi said the same thing to me today."

"Yumi…" Haru spoke, as if the thought of her had only now just crossed his mind. "How is she, Shiro?"

"Well…sad, I think. She misses you."

Haru nodded, sluicing water over the back of his neck. "And Uncle? Is he still intent on surrendering to Shinra?"

"Haru," Shiro replied uneasily, clutching at his hair, "it's…done. A delegation from Shinra is arriving tomorrow…Commander Jho says that they plan to set up an embassy in the Pagoda of the Five Mighty Gods."

"An embassy," Haru spat out, his mood darkening rapidly. "You mean a seat of power. They intend to rule Wutai."

"I'm not sure…"

"Oh come on, Shiro, what else could this visit mean?" Haru snapped. "And my uncle is prepared to meekly step aside and let Shinra subjugate his people…"

"…Does he have a choice?" Shiro offered hesitantly. "If he refuses, won't Shinra just…destroy us?"

Haru said nothing, thinking back to the fires of Jien, the countless bodies that had covered the ground. He felt the anger he'd suppressed by drinking and whoring burn within him once more. Had the deaths of so many women and children, so many of his own brave men, only bought the rest of his people a miserable existence under the tyranny of Shinra?

"My uncle has acted like a spineless fool. He would sell us all to Shinra for a parody of peace," Haru said coldly, rising from the tub. "I must make him see reason."

"But, Haru—"

Haru ignored him, wrenching his clothes back over his wet skin in his haste to leave, banging the door open before him. His march to the palace was a blur. In what seemed a second's time, he had ascended to the top of the Fire Pagoda and was throwing back the screen to his uncle's quarters.

He found Lord Godo awake in his study, his head bent over his desk, the candle near his hand burning low in its holder. As Haru drew closer, his uncle raised his eyes from the letter he was writing, and Haru was momentarily shocked by how much the man had seemed to age in a few months' time.

"Haru," Lord Godo greeted him tiredly. "It is good to see you alive and well."

"Is it true that the Shinra are arriving here tomorrow?" Haru demanded, his rage outweighing his distant concern.

"It is," his uncle answered calmly. "Your sister has graciously agreed to receive the delegation at the palace gates."

Whatever tenuous hold Haru had over his temper suddenly snapped, his face flooding scarlet.

"My sister," he repeated venomously. "You would parade her before the eyes of those Shinra bastards like a common slut. Have you no respect for our father's memory? Had he been born a few minutes earlier, the decision to surrender would not have been yours to make."

"Do you think I chose this path gladly, Haru?" his uncle said with some heat, rising from his chair. "I do not enjoy bending my knee to Shinra any more than you do, but I had to swallow my pride and do what was best for my people."

"_This_ is what's best?" Haru seethed. "You've made us their slaves. They'll have us digging their materia mines, building their Mako reactors. They'll abuse our women and children and turn our great cities into slums."

"What would you have done, then, Haru?" his uncle challenged. "If you were lord of Wutai, what choice would you have made?"

"I would have fucking _fought_," Haru yelled, slamming his fists down on the desk. "Anything but roll over and submit to those goddamned monsters." His eyes burned, his hands still stinging from the impact. "You weren't there, Uncle. You didn't see what they did to Jien. The women were just lying in the road, bloody and mangled…and…gods…the children…"

He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat.

"No, I was not there," Godo replied after a while, sinking back into his chair. "I did not see. But when I heard what had happened at Jien, I knew that I must surrender. I could not bear the thought of another such tragedy befalling my people. The violence had to end."

"And what of the people of Jien? What of my men?" Haru said fiercely. "Should I be forced to accept that they died for nothing? Will you deny them justice?"

"There is no justice in what you seek, Haru," Lord Godo said wearily, his head bowed as if a great invisible weight was bearing down on his shoulders. "Death brings only more death."

"But the dead must be avenged," Haru insisted. "It is our way."

"No, it is the _old_ way," his uncle said sharply. "Times have changed, Haru, and Wutai must learn to change with them. Your father would have said the same."

"My father is dead," Haru bit out, his eyes glinting like hardened steel. "Who knows what he would have said. But this is what I say: I am Haru Kisaragi, the son of Goro Kisaragi, the descendant of an ancient line reaching back more than twenty generations. I am a man of Wutai, and I will not bow to the Shinra."

"Do not do this, Haru," Lord Godo said quietly. "Do not forsake your people."

"The one who forsakes them is _you_," Haru declared coldly. "Bow and scrape to the Shinra all you like, be their footstool. And when the legacy of Wutai has been ground into dust and the people who remain cower at every shifting shadow, I pray that you still find satisfaction in your so-called peace."

"Haru, you must try to understand." Lord Godo stood, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Please, my nephew—"

Haru wrenched away, his lip raised in a snarl.

"You are no uncle of mine!"

"…Daddy?"

Haru froze, turning to the door where his little cousin Yuffie stood in her nightgown, looking between him and her father with wide, fearful eyes.

"I…I heard shouting," she stammered.

For a moment, neither man said a word, a tense silence building in the room. Then, just as quickly, Haru remembered his anger and, recovering himself, strode towards the door. When he reached his cousin, he paused, looking down at her. Her brown eyes stared up at him in confusion.

"Yuffie," he spoke, his voice hoarse. "Your father is a coward."

Before either of them could respond, Haru turned his back on them and left. As he descended the stairs of the Fire Pagoda, his mind was strangely blank, a cold hollowness settling in his chest.

The hallways were dark and quiet in the hours before dawn. He moved through them like a ghost, disembodied and detached.

_I've disowned my uncle,_ he thought vaguely.

As he emerged into the foyer, he saw Shiro sitting on a bench near the entrance, cradling his face in his hands. At the sound of footsteps, he looked up, and, seeing that it was Haru, got slowly to his feet. Whatever expression Haru wore made Shiro grimace in dread.

"Sir," he said in a low, anxious voice. "Haru…what have you done?"

As Haru opened his mouth to reply, he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him and slowly turned. A few feet away stood his younger sister, wrapped in a robe of pale silk, her long dark hair tumbling freely down her shoulders. From her frowning face, his own grey eyes stared back at him in question.

"Haru?" she said, her voice falling like a leaf onto the still surface of his mind, leaving ripples of memory in its wake.

Centuries seemed to pass as he gazed at her, until the world around them fell away and only they and the distance between them remained. She was beautiful—more beautiful than he remembered—and the sight of her was too much.

Wretched, he tore his eyes away.

"Let's go, Shiro," he commanded stonily, resuming his course.

Wordlessly, Shiro fell into step behind him, and together they turned their backs on the palace of Wutai.


	3. Chapter Three

**DISCLAIMER: still don't own ff7  
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**Author's note: **Sorry for the long delay! This one's for you, WiltingInsanity! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<br>**

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><p>At the bottom of the sacred steps, Yumi stood, watching with hollow eyes as men emerged from the Shinra helicopters, steadily advancing towards her and the Pagoda of the Five Mighty Gods. At her side, Minnea fidgeted, smoothing her hair and her dress, her sapphire eyes shining with excitement when all Yumi wanted was to disappear. Her mother, at least, seemed to share her sentiments, her elegant mouth pressed into a grim line as she clasped her daughter's hand briefly in her own cold fingers.<p>

The night before had been among the darkest in Yumi's life. Haru's callous departure had left her devastated and lost, and when morning arrived and she learned of the circumstances behind his actions, her sadness had only grown deeper.

"_Your brother has severed all ties with me, Yumi. I am his uncle no more."_

Pain lanced through her at the memory of those words, and Yumi pressed a fist to her heart, unwilling to let the tears fall. She would not show weakness now. Not in front of these Shinra dogs.

"Oh, there he is!" Minnea whispered eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Sephiroth! Do you see him, Yumi?"

He was rather difficult to miss. Clothed all in black, his long silver hair whipped out behind him like a banner, his green eyes unnaturally bright. He was certainly tall, although far less than the eight feet Minnea had made him out to be. Both his youth and the slenderness of his build surprised her, and while she did not doubt his terrible strength, he was not quite the monster she had expected.

"Yes," Yumi answered at last. "I see him."

"Gods, they're getting close," Minnea fretted, pinching her cheeks. "How do I look?"

"Fine," Yumi replied absently, her attention focused on the approaching delegation.

Sephiroth appeared to be the only SOLDIER present among them. The massive uniformed man walking next to him must be Heidegger, chief commander of Shinra's armed forces, but Yumi could not guess at the names of the others. Some, like Heidegger, wore military dress, while the rest were clothed in black ties and suits.

_Turks_, Yumi surmised, her eyes narrowing. _Shinra's spies and assassins._

As the delegation finally drew to a halt before the steps, a sense of foreboding chilled Yumi to the bone. She could hear her own heart pounding in her ears, her raw throat desert dry. Her hands folded into the sleeves of her borrowed kimono, cold fingers clutching her wrist as she closed her eyes briefly and bowed.

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><p>The Pagoda of the Five Mighty Gods was a majestic sight. Each level seemed to tell a different story, yet all were seamlessly connected. Creation and destruction. Love and hate. Hope and fear. Sephiroth had read many books on the culture of Wutai, but the subtleties of its religion had always fascinated him most.<p>

"Gya haa haa haa! Look at this place," Heidegger chortled, elbowing Sephiroth in the ribs. "These Wutanese live like fucking kings."

Sephiroth's only response was a clenching of his jaw. The prospect of spending the next few hours in Heidegger's company was not appealing in the least.

"Is this your first visit to the capitol, General?" Tseng asked from Sephiroth's other side.

"It is," he replied, a silver brow arching at the unexpectedness of the question. "Why?"

"Just making polite conversation," Tseng said with a slight smile, lowering his voice as he nodded towards Heidegger. "You seemed in short supply of it."

But Heidegger would not be ignored. As they neared the pagoda, he whooped rather loudly, pointing a pudgy finger towards one of the women awaiting them at the steps.

"Check out the tits on that one, pretty boy," he said to Sephiroth, bearded face split in a toothy grin. "Now that's what I call a welcome."

Clothed in a garish red and orange kimono, the large-breasted blonde reminded Sephiroth unpleasantly of Scarlet. He found his gaze lingering instead on the girl standing beside her. Though her face was pale and drawn, she was nonetheless quite beautiful, her long dark hair gathered over one shoulder, secured with a blue ribbon the same color as her dress. Her grey eyes met his only briefly before shifting towards the last woman in the group, an older, dark-haired lady who could certainly be her mother.

Behind the women stood a row of palace guards in traditional Wutanese armor. As the ladies bowed in greeting, the guards saluted Sephiroth and the rest of the contingent by raising and lowering their spears.

"Welcome, honored guests," the grey-eyed girl said as she straightened. "I am Yumi Kisaragi, niece of Godo Kisaragi, twenty-sixth Lord of Wutai. Please allow me to introduce my noble mother, Saya Kisaragi, wife of our Lord's late brother." The older woman inclined her head slightly. "And—"

"—Minnea Jho," the blonde interjected, ignoring the sharp look directed at her by Yumi's mother, "daughter of High Commander Kanto Jho."

Sephiroth did not miss how the girl's blue eyes raked over him as she made her introduction.

Yumi Kisaragi bowed deeply again, the ends of her dark hair nearly brushing the smooth stone of the plaza. "We have been assigned the privilege of escorting you to our Lord."

As one, the row of guards moved up and back until two parallel lines were formed with a single pair of men on each step, separated by several feet and facing one another. They held their spears high, sunlight gleaming from their bronze armor.

"Please follow me," Yumi said as she turned, leading the Shinra delegation upwards, through the path formed between the assembled guards.

"All this pointless ceremony," Heidegger grumbled as he lumbered up the steps, soon breathless from exertion.

By the time they reached the entrance, he was panting loudly, and the whole group was forced to pause while he regained what little composure he had. In the meantime, several of the men, including Tseng, had engaged Yumi and her mother in conversation. Yet before Sephiroth could make a move to join them, he noticed the blonde girl sidling up to him.

"Are you finding the city of Wutai to your liking, General?" she asked him silkily, crossed arms elevating her already largely exposed breasts.

"I've only just arrived," Sephiroth said shortly, glancing away from the spectacle of her chest. Near the entryway, he saw Tseng conversing with Godo's niece alone, a small smile lighting her face at some doubtlessly clever remark.

"Oh yes!" Minnea giggled, her eyes sparkling with obvious intent. "But this is a lovely change of scenery, isn't it?"

Looking past her invitation to leer, Sephiroth instead watched from a distance as Yumi tucked a few strands of hair behind the delicate shell of her ear, sending a small diamond teardrop into glittering motion. As she turned to lead the party onward at last, his eyes traced the gentle curve of her jaw, the smooth slender column of her throat.

"Yes," he replied coolly, brushing past Minnea Jho. "If you'll excuse me."

In a few strides, he had caught up with the rest of the group and entered the pagoda's first floor. The room that greeted him was grand to say the least. Rich furniture surrounded an open central square of polished wood, bordering walls painted with great, vibrant murals detailing the exploits of the gods. The high wooden ceiling was intricately carved in the Wutanese tradition, inlaid with precious metals that gleamed like fire in the lantern light.

They did not linger here for long, Yumi quickly leading them to an ancient staircase at the back of the room. At each new level of the pagoda, they were again forced to wait for Heidegger to catch his breath, although he appeared to recover more rapidly as the end of the climb drew near.

The fifth and final floor was relatively plain compared to the others. As they crossed the threshold, Lord Godo and his commanders rose to greet them from their positions near the head of a great lacquered table.

"Thank you, my child," Godo said to his niece, his smile weary.

Sephiroth saw Yumi return the gesture, and bowing slightly, she and the other two women left the room, a wooden screen sliding shut behind them.

"Please," Godo said graciously, motioning towards the opposite end of the table, "be seated."

Sephiroth took his place next to Heidegger, who had commandeered two cushions at the foot of the long, low table. While the rest of the Shinra contingent claimed their spots along the sides, Godo began his introductions.

"I am Godo Kisaragi, son of Ito Kisaragi and lord of the nation of Wutai. With me are my principal officers: Kanto Jho, high commander of the Wutanese army"—Godo nodded towards a sour-looking man with a long black mustache, seated at his left—"Ren Kane, Naka Sen, Taro Ishi, Hite Washizaki, and Ryo Wan."

Sephiroth studied each of the six commanders in turn. All were battle-hardened warriors, scarred and embittered to varying degrees. Judging by their expressions, the idea of surrender did not sit well with any of them.

"And your nephew?" one of the Turks inquired smoothly—a senior agent by the name of Sven, whose black eyes watched Godo closely. "Where is he?"

A strongly built man of around forty years, Godo seemed to age forty more in the space of the Turk's question. His broad shoulders sank slightly, the wrinkles at the corners of his dark eyes deepening.

"Commander Haru Kisaragi is no longer among us," the Lord of Wutai acknowledged stiffly, "though I do not believe the details concerning his absence are of any consequence in these negotiations."

Apparently satisfied with this answer, the Turk allowed the subject to drop, and Heidegger brusquely introduced the representatives from Shinra. During his introductions, Sephiroth keenly felt the weight of the Wutanese commanders' heavy stares. Though Heidegger led the Shinra army, it was no secret that SOLDIER was responsible for the victory over Wutai. As much as he resented it, Sephiroth knew that the primary reason he was present at this meeting was to serve as a visible reminder of the consequences of defiance.

_The Mad Dog of Shinra_, Sephiroth thought as Heidegger began to outline the terms of the treaty. _That is what the Wutanese call me. And I am._

_I am their monster._

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><p>Yumi groaned as her eyes opened to darkness. She hadn't meant to sleep so long, but her debt from the night before demanded repayment. Gradually, she eased herself up from the sofa and its dog-bitten pillows and massaged her aching neck.<p>

It was not long before her thoughts turned to her brother. The sadness still remained, although a few hours of rest had tempered its initial sting. She now wondered where Haru was and, more importantly, what he was planning. For she knew he would not go quietly. It was simply not in his nature.

How many times had he been reprimanded by their father only to lash out unexpectedly later? Insults festered inside him like wounds, compounding with poison until the heat of his temper released them. Perhaps her uncle did not realize this, could not sense the calm before the storm. Even if he knew, he would be powerless to stop Haru now.

"…_I am his uncle no more."_

But Yumi was still his sister. And with the help of the gods, perhaps she could make him see reason.

Rising quickly to her feet, Yumi scrambled in the darkness for the small red book she always kept close at hand and, locating it at last, exited the parlor. As she moved towards the main entrance of her rooms, the sound of soft weeping from her bedroom gave her pause.

Earlier that day, after leading the Shinra delegation to the top of the pagoda, Minnea had run off in a whirl of red silk, tears streaming down her even redder cheeks. When Yumi finally managed to catch up with her, Minnea had thrown herself into her arms, angry and sobbing.

"He's so—so _cruel_!" Minnea had exclaimed.

"Who is?" Yumi had asked gently, genuinely concerned at the girl's obvious distress.

"Sephiroth." The name had left her lips like a bitter curse. "He's the rudest, coldest man I've ever met. He wouldn't even lo—look at me," she had choked, burying her face in Yumi's shoulder. "I've never been so insulted in my entire life!"

Yumi had done her best to console her friend, but it seemed the injury to Minnea's pride would take time to heal. She was a vain girl, spoiled and selfish thanks to her witless father, but she was not a bad person at heart, and Yumi did not like to see her so miserable, whether she deserved it or not.

A faint sigh escaping her lips, Godo's niece resumed her course, padding quietly to the screen door. The hallway beyond was silent and still, and she moved through it almost reverently, her slippered feet scarcely making a sound.

Outside, the Shinra helicopters still swarmed the royal plaza, moonlight rippling off their metal surfaces. Yumi edged cautiously around them as she made her way towards the Pagoda of the Five Mighty Gods. Certainly by now the negotiations had ended, and she would be free to pray there in peace.

The chill of the evening air urged her quickly up the sacred steps and through the double doors. Yet as soon as she entered the pagoda, Yumi realized she was not alone.

Across the room stood a solitary figure clothed in black, his back facing her as he studied something along the wall, the lantern light gilding the long silver fall of his hair. Frozen, Yumi stared at him, fear and determination warring within her.

_I'll just leave_, she finally decided, turning back towards the entrance. _I can return later once he's gone._

Clear and controlled, the sudden sound of his voice arrested her motion.

"This is a fine sword."

Slowly, Yumi turned, her grey eyes regarding him curiously. He was not facing her now, had made no move to approach her. She could leave, and she doubted he would pursue her. She _should_ leave, yet she found herself moving forward instead.

At the back of the room stood a towering bronze statue of Da-Chao, incense burning at his feet and sword cradled in his burnished hands. Longer than a man was tall, the katana gleamed, its edge as sharp now as it had ever been.

"That sword is the Masamune," Yumi spoke as she stood at his side, her gaze resting on the legendary blade, "a weapon forged by the gods themselves. It belonged to my ancestor, the first lord of Wutai. With it, he united the eight ancient kingdoms into one nation, fulfilling the prophecy of Da-Chao."

"And who wields it now?" Sephiroth asked.

"No one," Yumi said in surprise, glancing up at him. "No man since the first lord has ever used it in battle, though many have tried."

His green eyes slid from the sword to her face. "A pity."

Unnerved by his glowing stare, Yumi busied herself with retrieving a stick of incense from a nearby table and lighting it with a candle. Closing her eyes briefly, she knelt, placing it in the altar at Da-Chao's feet.

"My father was a great warrior," she said as she straightened. "When he was young, he trained constantly, determined to be worthy of the Masamune. Yet, in the end, he never even attempted to wield it." She looked back at Sephiroth, frowning slightly. "I couldn't understand why, after all that time, he didn't at least try."

"He never explained his reasoning to you?"

Yumi shook her head. "No. He was a strange man, but I think I understand him better now." She reached out, skimming her finger across the edge of the blade. Her skin split, a single bead of blood welling up to the surface. "What makes can also unmake. The gifts of the gods are not to be used lightly, and my father feared them well."

Yumi started as a gloved hand grasped her fingers, pressing a small square of cloth to her bleeding fingertip.

"And do you fear them?" he asked, cat-like eyes locked with her own. A green orb in his armlet began to glow, warming her skin. "The gods?"

"Yes," Yumi breathed as he allowed her hand to fall away, the small cut now perfectly healed. "Among other things."

His attention had returned to the statue. "Do they ever answer your prayers?"

"Always," Yumi replied, taking a moment to study his features. Despite the strangeness of his eyes, he was a handsome man, the lines of his face straight and sharp, chiseled as if from stone. "Although rarely how or when I might expect."

He nodded, the corner of his mouth rising. "I suppose the gods have that luxury."

Yumi said nothing, watching as his gaze shifted, falling on the red book clutched to her chest. "Is that Da-Chao's teaching?"

"Yes," she responded automatically, revealing the front cover, _The Word of Da-Chao_ emblazoned upon it in characters of faded gold. "It was my father's."

"'Seek not war, yet if it finds you, respond with all your strength.'"

Yumi's eyes widened as they met his. "You've read the teaching?"

"In part," Sephiroth admitted. "The writing has an unusual rhythm. It reads almost like poetry."

"Much more than that," Yumi said softly, pressing the book to her heart once again.

Silence stretched between them as she remembered her father and his calm, unwavering faith. She remembered the sadness in his eyes, the quiet grief he had suffered knowing that she had not shared his convictions.

"_My daughter, will you ever choose the path of peace?"_

His phantom hand rested upon her shoulder, his sense of loss reflected in her own grey eyes. Perhaps Sephiroth saw it there as well, his next words shocking Yumi to the core.

"My condolences," he said, holding her gaze carefully, as if it were something fragile, "regarding your brother."

Yumi stared at him, her lips parting slightly. Somehow, this man had learned of Haru's disappearance and mistaken him for dead. Yet the absurdity of his consolation struck her speechless. How could the inhuman eyes of a Shinra SOLDIER seem so sincere? As if he truly regretted the assumed death of one man when he had burned thousands of innocent women and children in their homes?

Swallowing, she shook her head, unable to reconcile this man with his words as her brother's abandonment rose once again to the forefront of her thoughts, searing her like Sephiroth's gaze. Dizziness threatened to overtake her as she stepped back, putting a few feet of distance between them.

"I—excuse me," she managed, tearing her eyes from his as she all but ran for the pagoda's exit.

Outside on the steps, Yumi breathed in deeply, the night air filling her burning lungs, cooling her heated face. Aware that she was trembling, she crossed her arms over her chest and headed back to the Fire Pagoda, the frantic beating of her heart eventually subsiding.

What had she been thinking, talking to that man? What on earth had prompted her to tell him about her family, about her own father? She must be losing her mind. Wutai's defeat and Haru's actions had simply been too much to bear.

Yumi knew that she needed the gods' help, but right now, she just needed to see her mother.

As she approached Saya's wing of the Fire Pagoda, she heard voices conversing on the other side of the screen. Forgetting her own distress, Yumi slid the door open soundlessly, peering inside.

In a room off to the side, her mother and uncle sat together on a low couch, both looking worn and miserable. Yumi watched as Saya refilled his teacup, her own lying cold and untouched on the ebony table.

"I fear the worst is yet to come," her uncle spoke, raising the cup to his lips. "Shinra himself intends to visit within a fortnight under the guise of a 'diplomatic planning session.'" Godo snorted. "Diplomatic. I suppose it should be. What claws and fangs has he left me in the terms of this surrender?"

"The army has been dissolved, then?"

"Quite completely." Her uncle frowned. "Even our local militias have been disbanded. Only the palace guard remains, although their function has always been more or less ceremonial."

"But who will preserve order in the territories?—in the streets?" Saya questioned, her voice rising in concern. "There is much unrest in Wutai, and criminal behavior is inevitable."

"Heidegger has generously offered to supply a police force of his own," Godo said, letting his cup fall back to the table with a violent snap. "Not that I have much choice in the matter."

"A military takeover," her mother intoned, rising from the couch. Her obsidian eyes smoldered. "So this is Shinra's notion of diplomacy."

"Saya," Godo said as he stood, gripping her upper arms. "Please do not do this. To break us is what they want. Any misstep, any opportunity we give them to punish us further, they will gladly take. Haru could not see past his own anger, and now I fear he is lost." His voice wavered, features twisting in pain. "I cannot bear the thought of losing you."

"Haru," her mother whispered, a film of tears extinguishing the fire in her eyes. "My own son." Her long lashes briefly fell, casting shadows on her cheeks. "I don't know why he has done this to us, how he can turn his back on his family so easily."

"He has his mother's temper," Yumi's uncle said, smiling slightly.

"Hmph." Saya glared at him, dark eyes glittering. "That may be. But he has his uncle's stubbornness as well."

"Stubborn?" Godo repeated, brow lifting. "So that's how you think of me?"

"Oh, don't be offended. Actually, I rather admire you for it."

"Is that so?" he asked softly, meeting her gaze.

Though suddenly conscious of her spying, Yumi suppressed her guilt and watched on. The tension between her mother and uncle built with every passing moment, an electrical charge that hummed in the air, threatening to break at any instant.

In the distance, a bell chimed—the toll of midnight.

"…forgive me," Yumi's uncle said, his hands falling away from her mother's arms. "I did not notice the lateness of the hour."

"No," Saya said quietly, stepping back, "nor did I."

"Goodnight, then," her uncle said with a slight bow.

"Goodnight…"

Quickly and silently, Yumi closed the screen, taking cover behind a large potted tree near the entrance. The door slid open a few seconds later, but she remained still and concealed until the sound of her uncle's departing footsteps faded entirely. Picking pine needles from her dress, Yumi finally rose and entered her mother's rooms.

Saya remained in the parlor, her back to her daughter as she gathered up the teacups and kettle.

"Mama?"

Her mother jumped a little in surprise, the china in her hands clinking.

"Yumi," she said as she turned, balancing the cups on one palm. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I see you've had a visitor."

"Yes," Saya replied nonchalantly, placing the tea set on a silver tray in the corner. "Your uncle stopped by for a moment to discuss politics."

"Politics," Yumi echoed dully, crossing her arms over her chest as she gave her mother a pointed look. "When are you going to admit that you have feelings for one another?"

For the barest instant her mother tensed.

"I have no idea what you mean," she answered a moment later, perfectly calm.

"Oh, Mama," Yumi sighed in frustration, plopping down on the silk cushions of the couch. "Don't lie to me."

After a moment of consideration, her mother sat down next to her, expression guarded no longer.

"Is it really so obvious?" Saya whispered, her voice somewhat strained.

"No," Yumi answered, taking her mother's hands in her own. "But it's true isn't it? You love him."

"Please, Yumi," her mother said in a trembling voice. "Please do not hate me…"

"Hate you? I could never hate you, Mama. Least of all for this."

"But he is your uncle!" Her mother abruptly stood, turning her face away. "How can you condone this, with your father scarcely cold in the grave?"

"Father has been dead for over three years," Yumi said seriously, drawing her mother back down to her seat. "It is only natural that you should want to move on."

"But, his own brother—"

"You've said that already, though I don't see why it matters."

"Oh, Yumi, don't be so naïve." Her mother shook her head. "Think what people would say. The shame would be too great."

"So you deny your love for fear of a scandal? Because you believe your enemies will condemn you—" her lips bent, mockery seeping into her voice—"because you are afraid of tainting the _greatness _of our house?"

"Yumi," her mother breathed in shock.

"What does it matter anymore?" Her throat constricted, tears burning in her eyes. "Father is dead, Haru is disgraced, Wutai is fallen—and you are concerned with _reputation_? How can you call _me_ naïve? How can you insist that I am wrong for encouraging you to take the only chance at happiness our family may have left?"

The last word escaped Yumi as a sob, her vision blurring as she felt her mother's arms go around her.

"My child," Saya said tremulously, stroking gentle fingers through her daughter's hair. "It is not fair that you should have to live in these terrible times. You are too young to speak with such hopelessness. A mother should protect her children, but I cannot…"

She held Yumi tighter, as if doing so could yet shield her from the world around them.

"I cannot."


	4. Chapter Four Part One

**Disclaimer:** Oh, for God's sake...

**Author's note:** Thanks so much for the reviews, favs and follows! Soooo...after much deliberation, I have decided to split up the 4th chapter. See my profile for more details. ...Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter Four - Part One<strong>

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><p>On the upper deck of the airship <em>Conquest<em>, General Sephiroth of SOLDIER stood alone. Bracing his arms against the deck's steel railing, he leaned forward into a rush of freezing air. Three days had passed since his departure from Wutai, and now, after a brief stop at the military base in Junon, he was at last returning to the city of his birth. He suspected most people rejoiced at the prospect of home, but all Sephiroth felt as Midgar's familiar grey skies appeared on the horizon was a vague sense of dread.

"So, this is where you've been hiding out."

Sephiroth turned to find his newest SOLDIER 1st Class leaning casually against the metal doorframe of the cabin, grinning at him. Spiky hair partially obscured his features, its color the same jet black as his new uniform.

"Not well enough, it seems."

"So harsh," the SOLDIER said with a laugh, shaking his unruly head. "If I weren't such a tough guy, I don't think I could handle being your friend."

"Tough?" Sephiroth repeated, brow arching as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Weren't you just boasting yesterday about how your sensitivity makes you irresistible to women?"

The black-haired man shrugged. "So I'm a versatile guy. Ladies like 'em strong _and_ perceptive, Seph. That's why I'm such a catch."

"Zack Fair, the self-proclaimed womanizer," Sephiroth said dryly, "yet the only female I've seen you entice is a stray dog that wanted your rations."

Zack glowered, kicking back against the doorframe. "That's not fair. You've never watched me in my element. Even the whores in Wutai wouldn't lift their skirts for a foreign devil, but Midgar'll be a different story. When we get back, we'll hit the clubs in Sector 7. Then you can witness my greatness for yourself."

Sephiroth's eyes slid back to the horizon. "Not interested."

"Hey, I'm not taking 'no' for an answer here, General. Don't think I won't show up on your doorstep." He paused, apparently changing tactics. "Besides, getting laid would do you a world of good."

Sephiroth turned, shooting Zack an icy glare. "Are you finished?"

"Okay, so maybe that was a bit uncalled for." The SOLDIER smiled sheepishly, rocking back on his heels. "But in all seriousness, sir, we should go out for drinks tonight. The end of a war is worth celebrating, don't you think?"

The airship had begun its descent. Through the gloomy haze, Sephiroth discerned the skyline of Midgar, the jut of Shinra HQ, the vastness of the Upper Plate and the slums beneath and the eight reactors that ringed it all, setting the city alight with Mako energy. Like the primordial Weapons said to slumber in the depths of the Planet, Midgar lay—a titan of soot and steel, its multitude of glowing eyes ever seeking to devour. The only beast he felt powerless to slay.

Unconsciously, Sephiroth tightened his grip on the railing, the hard metal yielding beneath his fingers.

"C'mon…just a couple drinks?"

Closing his eyes briefly in annoyance, Sephiroth released the warped rail and turned, striding towards the door of the cabin.

"Very well," he said to Zack as he stepped through the entryway, "but you're buying."

"Sir, yes, sir!" the SOLDIER said happily, following the general inside.

Below deck, Sephiroth found the rest of his SOLDIER 1st Class much the same as he'd left them. Some were drinking and playing cards. Others were dozing or sharpening their swords. Yet all of them looked up when he entered, some twenty pairs of glowing blue eyes regarding him intently. Most of these men were several years older than himself, their resentment of his newfound authority still evident in a few of their expressions. With the exception of Zack, none seemed to like him, but Sephiroth didn't particularly care for their friendship. All he demanded was their respect—and that he had, whether grudging or otherwise.

"We'll be landing shortly," Sephiroth announced. "Prepare to march."

"March?" one gravelly voice inquired as its owner stood, sheathing his greatsword behind his back. Four years Sephiroth's senior, he crossed heavily-muscled arms over a barrel chest, scowling at the general. "My leave begins as soon as we return to Midgar."

"Your leave begins when I say it does," Sephiroth replied coolly, leveling his gaze at the surly, dark-haired man. "A parade is to be held in honor of SOLDIER. As such, Markov, your attendance is required. Is that understood?"

Under the force of Sephiroth's stare, Markov relented.

"Sir," he answered with a nod, sinking back down into his seat.

Less than thirty minutes later, Sephiroth felt the jolt of their landing and promptly led his troops toward the hatch. Outside, a light rain had begun to fall, oil running off the metal steps in thin black streams. As they exited the airship, Sephiroth breathed in the staleness of Midgar, so different from the crisp mountain air he'd grown accustomed to in Wutai.

The airship had touched down in the Weapons Development main compound, located a few miles from Shinra HQ in Sector 1. The rest of the runway had been cleared of aircraft, and a vast assembly of infantrymen, lower class SOLDIERs, and armored vehicles now occupied it, along with a portion of the Shinra elite—Heidegger and his chief officers in full regalia, Shinra executives Scarlet and Reeve, Vice President and President Shinra. Catching sight of Sephiroth, the latter smiled broadly beneath his thick blonde mustache, grinding the remains of a cigar under his heel.

"Sephiroth, my boy!" Shinra greeted, crossing the short distance between them and clasping the general by the shoulder. His gold signet ring clanged against Sephiroth's pauldron, a ruby the size of a bird's egg gleaming darkly from the central setting. "Welcome back."

"President Shinra," Sephiroth returned evenly. "SOLDIER 1st Class reporting for duty."

At Sephiroth's words, his men stood at attention, right hands rising to their foreheads in a brief salute.

"Magnificent," Shinra said, nodding in approval. "Simply magnificent. You and your men have performed admirably. Even I did not anticipate that Wutai would fall so quickly. You must forgive my underestimation of your abilities."

_My abilities?_ Sephiroth thought acidly._ Any fool with a torch could have burned down that defenseless village._

But the general kept these sentiments to himself.

"A victory among victories," the President effused, his meaty hand latching onto Sephiroth's upper arm, leading him forward at a leisurely pace. "Your strength is Shinra's greatness."

As they approached the cluster of executives standing nearby, Reeve was the first to step forward.

"General Sephiroth," the head of Urban Development acknowledged, reaching out to shake the general's hand. On his face was the same faintly pitying expression he had worn since Sephiroth's youth. "Congratulations on your achievements in Wutai."

"A pleasure to see you again, General," Scarlet purred, clad like the President in Shinra red, her sneering lips the same violent shade as her slip of a dress.

"Gya haa haa haa," Heidegger chortled predictably, while Rufus Shinra said nothing at all, looking extremely bored with the whole affair.

The only branch of Shinra conspicuously absent from the group was the Turks, though Sephiroth didn't doubt that they were close by, strategically positioned to keep an eye on the proceedings. The President of Shinra Inc. had more than a few determined enemies.

"Well," Scarlet drawled, flicking ashes off the end of her cigarette. "Shall we commence?"

"Certainly," the President said, blinking in surprise when he saw Sephiroth begin to turn back toward his 1st Class SOLDIERs. "Where are you off to, my boy? You'll be riding up front with me."

This statement at last seemed to warrant Rufus Shinra's attention. His lips twisted sourly as he glared at his father.

"What are you saying? I always stand next to you at ceremonies."

"Not today," President Shinra said lightly, removing another cigar from the inside pocket of his suit and placing it between his teeth. "You can go with Heidegger."

"You've got to be joking."

Slowly, Shinra lit his cigar, taking a few long draws of it before turning to address his son.

"You'll go with Heidegger," he repeated, all levity drained from his voice, his eyes like two chips of blue ice.

Jaw clenching angrily, Rufus spun on his heel, his long white coat whipping about his ankles. He swept a hand disdainfully through his short blonde hair.

"Let's go," the Vice President snapped at Heidegger as he strode past, heading towards one of three black convertibles parked close by.

Sephiroth joined President Shinra in the back seat of the second car, with Reeve and Scarlet occupying the third. At the President's word, the military officer in the driver's seat accelerated, circling around to the front of the assembly, the other two convertibles in tow. As the gates of the compound shuddered open, Sephiroth heard the first clash of cymbals from the marching band at their backs, igniting a chorus of cheers on the other side of the gates.

Despite the increasing rain, all of Midgar seemed to have gathered in attendance. Police officers shoved and shouted, struggling to keep the massive crowd parted on either side of the street. When Sephiroth rose to his feet along with the President, the cries from the onlookers grew deafening. Cameras flashed on all sides, brighter than the lightning that split the grey sky. As he shifted his gaze from the crowd to the surrounding buildings, decorated with Shinra banners and giant projection screens, the general finally realized exactly what the people of Midgar were roaring.

_My name_, he thought in faint surprise, his own face staring back at him, enlarged on half a dozen screens that lined the street leading up to Shinra HQ. _They are all shouting my name_.

"Come on, my boy," Shinra said to him, rainwater dripping from the upraised ends of his mustache. The cigar hung from his lips, steaming in the wet air. "Give the people a wave."

Sephiroth raised his hand. Somehow, the noise around them swelled even louder.

As they approached the plaza bordering Shinra HQ, the crowd surged like a wave, crashing through the flimsy barricade. The police force was overwhelmed, and hundreds of people soon swarmed the three vehicles at the front. The parade slowed to a crawl, yet the marching band continued to play, the trumpets blasting their victory tune even louder than before.

Women—and a few men—clambered over the sides of Sephiroth's convertible, screaming and pushing and kicking each other down in their efforts to reach him. Hands grabbed at his arms and legs, fisted in his hair. One woman with a split cheek managed to wrap her arms around his waist, shrieking that she loved him even as a police officer beat her to the ground. Others yelled for him to look at them, some tearing open shirts already translucent with rain, naked breasts spilling into the damp air.

With the arrival of reinforcements, Heidegger's police force began to rally, driving the citizens back like a herd of crazed sheep. As the crowd receded, the young general glimpsed a few trampled corpses lying scattered in the wake—a scene eerily reminiscent of the battlefields he'd left behind.

It was to a more subdued audience that the parade resumed. As the cars cut across the great plaza, the general began to understand why the people of Midgar were possessed with such madness. Images of Sephiroth and SOLDIER covered every surface—every building, every public vehicle, every post-office box and lamppost and newsstand. Flyers and posters, billboards and newspapers. In the central square, gigantic television screens replayed battle scenes from the front of Shinra HQ and its neighboring skyscrapers.

Sephiroth watched once again as the coastal city of Tousei fell, the smoking remains of Wutanese trade ships half-floating in the harbor, his SOLDIERs standing triumphant on the bloodstained shore. On another screen he relived the battle at Yanji Canyon, hundreds of Wutanese troops plummeting to their deaths when SOLDIER's earth magic collapsed the Great Span. And there, on the largest screen of all, he saw himself in the burning valley of Jien. Ice and lightning exploded around him in a storm of blood, the ground caving beneath his enemies' feet as the arc of his buster sword brought down four men at once.

And all of Midgar screamed in praise.

"See how these fools love you?" Shinra said with an oily grin, throwing an arm across Sephiroth's stiff shoulders as he gestured toward the crowd. "You are their angel of death."

The rain had stopped, and a shower of confetti now replaced it, glittering in the twilight. Fireworks lit the darkening sky, and on screen the valley of Jien continued to burn.

"An angel of death," the President repeated in satisfaction, his hungry gaze stained red by the projected flames.

"And Shinra is their god."

* * *

><p>"Shiro and Haru, you say?" The old man scratched behind his ear, frowning. "Haven't seen them in over a week."<p>

Yumi sank back against the wooden chair, her fingers tightening around the teacup in her lap. Beneath her sense of defeat, she felt a prickle of annoyance. For over three hours she'd endured his lectures, patiently listened to his anecdotes, suffered through his poetry readings with a smile—only to learn that he knew nothing of her brother's whereabouts.

"This generation has no respect for its elders," Gorky continued with a shake of his head, his plentiful whiskers sagging in disapproval. "What sort of young man disappears from his grandfather's house in the middle of the night, without so much as a farewell?"

"You're certain you haven't seen him since?"

"Yes, I'm certain," he replied with a wave. "I may be old, Lady Yumi, but I'm not senile."

Yumi bowed her head slightly, her shoulders falling slack. "Yes, I know. Forgive me."

"Hmph."

Gorky placed his teacup on the low table, reaching for a dumpling with a pair of steel chopsticks. His dark eyes regarded Yumi critically as he chewed, a subtle change passing like a shadow over his features. A slight tension, a glimmer of focus—and the chopsticks in his hand were flying point-first at her face.

Yumi jerked to the side, the chopsticks missing her head by an inch. They sank into the wall behind her like a set of throwing knives, ringing softly from the impact. For a moment she simply sat there, balanced on the edge of the wooden chair, staring at him in disbelief.

"Good," Gorky said absently, refilling his teacup. "It seems you have not forgotten _everything_ I taught you."

"What in the gods' names…" Godo's niece muttered in anger as she recovered, rising swiftly to her feet. "You could have killed me!"

"Calm yourself, Yumi. You're upsetting Po."

The old brown dog raised his head from the floor mats, blinking at her drowsily.

"Over ten years I spent training you in the art of war," Gorky resumed, his voice stern. "Your mother and uncle may indulge your weakness, but I will not tolerate such pathetic behavior from one of my finest students. Now, sit."

Still fuming, Yumi took her seat.

"Lecture me all you like, Gorky. It will change nothing."

Her former teacher bristled at the challenge.

"So you think this is what your honored father wished for his only daughter— a bowed head and a timid spirit?"

"My father wished for me to live in peace," Yumi answered firmly. "And so I shall."

"Peace, yes," Gorky mumbled, stuffing his hands into his sleeves. "But this?" He shook his grey head. "Not every battle is fought with the sword. The treaty may be signed, but I fear our war with Shinra has only just begun. Your uncle's true allies are few in power and in number. He will need your strength, Yumi. The blood of the first Lord flows in your veins. You bear the mark of his noble ancestry."

His gaze locked pointedly with her own, and Yumi's lips curved in realization.

"The Eyes of Leviathan, grey as the sea in storm." Her smile thinned. "They led my father to an early grave and my brother to dishonor. I can only imagine where they will lead me. "

She rose, giving the old man a curt bow.

"Goodnight, Gorky. Thank you for your hospitality."

Retrieving her cloak from a nail in the wall, Godo's niece made for the door.

"Yumi, wait."

She paused, glancing back at Gorky over her shoulder. Her eyes widened a fraction. Never in all her life had she seen her former instructor look so distinctly uncomfortable. He sat rigid as a board, fingers digging into the seat cushion. Sweat shimmered faintly on his aged brow.

"There was an—establishment—Shiro and Haru visited on the night of their disappearance," he said stiffly. "Perhaps someone there may know of their current location. However, it is not, well…to speak of such things in the presence of a _lady_—"

"Where?" Yumi demanded, retracing her steps. Her cheeks flushed as she noted the abruptness of her tone, but the old man seemed too preoccupied to take offense.

He sighed bracingly, not quite meeting her eyes.

"In the Red Light District. A brothel by the name of Midnight Garden."

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><p>Sephiroth sat shirtless on the examining table as a young nurse in white uniform filled three large sample vials with his blood. After taping a bit of gauze over the puncture wound in his forearm, she picked up his chart and jotted down his vital signs from the monitors beside the table. She said nothing as she worked, brown eyes darting nervously towards him, her obvious tension soon grating on his nerves.<p>

Sephiroth sighed. "You must be new."

The nurse jumped a little, the pen in her hand clattering to the floor. A faint blush crept across her freckled cheeks.

"I…yes, sir," she admitted, bending to retrieve the pen. "I only started working here two months ago, right after my graduation. Professor Hojo requested me specifically."

"I'm sure," the general replied, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "You're very efficient."

_And attractive, _Sephiroth added unspoken._ Hojo's ideal employee. _

"Thank you," she said, her blush deepening. "I hope you'll excuse me for acting so nervous. I've always watched you in the news reports, but seeing you in person is so much more, um…"

"Intimidating?" he offered, half serious.

The nurse nodded eagerly, seeming relieved. "Yes, exactly. When you were on television killing all those Wutanese, it was almost like watching a movie. None of it seemed real to me until I walked into this room. Then, when I saw your eyes up close, I was so frightened..." She trailed off, looking slightly abashed. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's fine," Sephiroth said, his voice coming out somewhat colder than he'd intended.

The girl flinched at his tone. As Sephiroth debated apologizing, the door of the examination room swung open to admit none other than Hojo himself. The head scientist strode forward, snatching the chart from the nurse's hands. He skimmed her notes, his sour expression unreadable as ever.

"You may go," he said, dismissing her without a glance.

The young nurse fled the room, the door closing softly behind her. A few minutes of silence followed her departure, wearing Sephiroth's patience thin.

"Well?" he prompted.

Hojo looked up at him narrowly, readjusting his spectacles. He placed the chart on the countertop and moved a few steps closer, crossing his arms behind his back.

"Your vital signs are normal for a SOLDIER specimen. No obvious symptoms of Mako rejection observed," he remarked clinically. "Pending the results of your blood work and cell culture, it seems you are functioning as expected."

"So I am free to leave?"

"For now," Hojo conceded, "provided you have nothing unusual to report yourself."

His hawk-like eyes met Sephiroth's over the rim of his glasses. The general frowned, tensing slightly. Twenty-three years old, and Hojo could still make him feel like a child.

"No," he said briskly, plucking the electrodes from his chest as he stood.

His black trench coat was slung over an adjacent chair. He snatched it up, shrugging his arms through the sleeves on his way to the door. As he reached for the handle, Hojo's clipped voice stopped him in his tracks.

"A moment, Sephiroth."

Cursing silently, the general turned to face him. "What is it?"

"Now that you have returned to Midgar, I would like to test you on a regular basis. Twice a week, perhaps."

He phrased his statements as if they were requests, but Sephiroth wasn't fooled. One memo to the President, and whatever experiments Hojo proposed would be relayed as direct orders from above. At least, that was how the scientist had managed to secure his obedience in the past, and Sephiroth doubted his recent promotion would grant him any more freedom in that regard.

Nonetheless, he set his jaw, green eyes glaring in defiance.

"We'll see," he said shortly, wrenching open the door and exiting the room before Hojo could say another word.

His boots clicked furiously across the tiled floor as he stalked towards the elevator. A few nurses and laboratory technicians scrambled out of his way, looking startled by his lack of composure. His chest was still largely bare. He hadn't bothered with securing the straps of his coat.

Alone in the elevator at last, Sephiroth allowed himself to relax. He hated the effect Hojo had on him. The man always made Sephiroth feel like an insect beneath the lens. No matter how agitated he became, Hojo was never fazed. A buzzing fly was still a fly, and behind that beady black gaze, Sephiroth could almost see the scientist mentally categorizing all his words and actions as the behaviors of an 'unusually intelligent specimen.'

Hojo had never viewed Sephiroth as a human being. Not like Professor Gast, whose brilliance had only been outshone by his compassion. Sephiroth still considered his conversations with Gast among his most treasured memories. Pinpoints of warmth scattered across the cold, bleak landscape of his childhood.

Sometimes he wondered how different his youth might have been had Gast remained in Midgar. Instead, he had abandoned Sephiroth to that sadist Hojo, who'd subjected him to more Mako injections than all of SOLDIER combined. Years of lying wracked in pain on a hospital bed as his blood burned and his muscles seized in the wake of doses that should have killed him many times over.

And yet he had survived. But to what end? To suffer another twenty years at the hands of a depraved scientist? To fight wars fueled by the greed of cruel, cowardly men? Was this the only purpose of his existence? Was this what he was created for?

_**You were created for more than this**_, a familiar voice whispered inside his mind. _**How long will you let these worms abuse you?**_

Sephiroth froze, his breath catching in his chest. Paralyzed, he waited, but the Voice did not enter his thoughts again.

A moment later, the elevator chimed—a welcome distraction. As the glass doors slid open, Sephiroth stepped into the lobby of the Shinra Building, which was thankfully deserted at this hour. He descended the carpeted steps and exited through a side door.

Night in Midgar was not drastically different from day. The sky was a few shades darker, but the stars were no more visible above the glare of Mako-powered signs and street lamps. Finding a gap in the stream of headlights, Sephiroth crossed the broad street bordering the plaza, his boots splashing through a grimy puddle in the pavement, the gutters still choked with confetti from the parade earlier that day.

One block down, the entrance to a high-rise apartment building came into view. Sephiroth nodded to the porter as he passed through the rotating door and emerged onto the marble floor of a spacious lobby.

He circled around the roaring fountain in the center, its gigantic crystal 'S' glittering in the light of several large chandeliers. Piano music drifted from the lounge to his left, punctuated by the sounds of laughter and clinking glass. A few of the men—mostly Turks—waved for Sephiroth to join them at the bar, but the general declined, making his way towards the gilded glass elevators at the back of the lobby.

He nodded to a few more Shinra employees as he passed, managers and executives dressed in tuxedos, escorting wives or mistresses to one of the three upscale restaurants lining the perimeter of the lobby. Near the entrance to North of the Plate, he met Reeve exiting the restaurant, a little girl with blonde pigtails resting in his arms, an ice cream cone clutched in her tiny fist. His wife, a kind-faced woman with blonde hair, and his older, dark-haired son followed close behind.

"Good evening, General," Reeve greeted, hoisting the child up a bit higher. "You remember my wife, Renée, and our children, Tom and Lucy?"

"Yes, I remember," he replied, making an effort to sound amiable despite his considerable weariness with Shinra. Of all the top-ranking executives, Reeve alone seemed in possession of a conscience. "Nice to see you all again."

"Is it true you blew up a whole town with a single spell?" Tom blurted out, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement. "My friend Lucas says you can kill a man just by looking at him, but I told him he's a liar—you have to use a materia, right? Mom and Dad wouldn't let me watch the news reports, so—"

"Tom," Renée interrupted gently, casting an apologetic glance at Sephiroth. "I'm sure General Sephiroth is very tired from his travels. Please don't badger him with questions."

"But—"

"Tom," Reeve said in a stern voice, "listen to your mother."

The boy's face fell.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled dejectedly.

Feeling sorry for the boy, Sephiroth knelt down, prizing a green orb from the armlet around his wrist. Tom looked up at him in question, and Sephiroth smiled faintly.

"You were right, Tom. Even 1st Class SOLDIERs need materia to cast spells."

The orb in his gloved hand glowed softly, miniature bolts of lightning sparking in the small space of air around it. Tom's eyes opened wide in surprise.

"Wow!—that's so cool!" he exclaimed, beaming. Catching his mother's eye, he straightened slightly. "Thank you for showing me."

Sephiroth nodded. He rose from his crouch and returned the lightning materia to the empty slot in his armlet.

"Yes, thank you, General," Renée said with a warm smile, drawing Tom to her side in a brief, one-armed embrace.

Something about that small display of affection gnawed at Sephiroth. As far as he could recall, he had never experienced anything similar to it himself. His own mother, Jenova, had died shortly after his birth, and Hojo had remained tight-lipped about the identity of his father. Now and again, there had been a nurse who had treated him kindly, though whether from pity or true feeling he could not say. Regardless, he knew that it was not the same.

Perhaps, if he had a child of his own one day…but no, it was a ridiculous thought.

"I suppose I should be on my way," he said tersely, feeling strangely agitated. "Today has been rather exhausting."

"Of course," Reeve said at once. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at a drip of vanilla ice cream on his suit jacket. "Lucy, can you say goodnight to Mr. Sephiroth?"

The little girl reluctantly shifted her attention from the cone to his face, looking at him with clear blue eyes. "G'night, Misser Seffy-roth."

Reeve's wife and son waved goodbye as Sephiroth resumed his course to the elevators. Reaching his destination at last, he pressed the button for the 30th floor, the glass doors sealing shut around him. His penthouse apartment was located just five floors short of the top, where President Shinra's own vast suite towered over the expanse of Midgar. He had yet to actually see the apartment for himself. It had been granted to him upon his promotion to the rank of General, and he had been notified while still in Wutai that his few possessions had been transferred to the new residence.

As the elevator sped upward, Sephiroth pulled a pair of silver keys from his coat pocket, the number 3000 etched onto their surfaces in an elegant script. He wasn't sure what to expect of his new apartment, except that it was bound to be quite larger than his old rooms in the SOLDIER barracks.

On that note, he was not disappointed. As he crossed the threshold, he was taken aback by the size of the space, which made his former living arrangements seem meager in comparison. The apartment had been decorated in a very modern style. White marble flooring met crisp white walls, with columns of black marble marking the intersection of kitchen and den. The theme of black and white continued throughout the rest of the apartment: black granite countertops, black and white leather sofas and chairs, black silk sheets, white tiled showers. What wasn't black and white was glass and polished steel. Sophisticated as it was, there was a cold, almost sterile feeling to the place that reminded Sephiroth a bit too strongly of the Science Department in Shinra HQ.

Returning to the master bathroom, he stripped off his boots and clothing and entered the shower, temporarily baffled by the array of gleaming knobs and dials. He hissed as the scalding water finally hit his skin, taut muscles slowly relaxing under the heat. Yet he still felt restless. For Sephiroth, the years he had spent in Wutai had been his first taste of true freedom. Midgar seemed like a prison in comparison, although most men would kill to live on the Upper Plate, let alone in such luxury as this. But he was not like most men.

_**You have been set apart from the others. You alone are destined for greatness. Open your eyes to the truth.**_

The Voice rasped in his mind, a cold whisper. Icy fingers that clawed inside his brain. He braced his hands against the tiled wall, breathing heavily. Hot water sluiced over his back and shoulders, the air around him thick with steam. Yet he shivered, silver hair framing his face in damp grey bundles.

Twice in one day the Voice had come to him. It had been speaking to him for years, though Sephiroth couldn't pinpoint exactly when it had begun. In the past, the whisperings had been rare enough for him to forget about them for months on end, but now they were growing increasingly frequent and becoming impossible for him to ignore.

He turned off the water with a shaking hand, stepping out of the glass shower stall. He toweled off his hair and skin and tried to convince himself that he was not insane. The Voice seemed to speak to him most during times of stress. Perhaps it was merely a figment of his imagination, some sort of latent coping mechanism he had developed during his early childhood. Hearing the Voice did not necessarily indicate psychosis.

Vaguely reassured, he entered the master bedroom and began searching through the spacious closet. He found a pair of black shorts on one of the shelves and pulled them on, not bothering with a shirt.

Returning to the kitchen, he discovered that the maid had fully stocked the refrigerator and set about making a cold chicken sandwich. As he ate, he inspected the various appliances and the contents of the pantry. Everything appeared to be brand new.

He then wandered from the kitchen into the study. A large glass desk sat in the middle of the room, bookshelves lining the wall behind it. Only a fraction of the collection had come from Sephiroth's old residence. As he skimmed the hundreds of spines, one title caught his eye. He plucked the small red book from the shelf, carrying it over to an armchair in a corner of the room.

A lamp rested on a side table to his right. He tugged the silver chain, the book's gold lettering gleaming in the flood of light_._ Apart from its lack of wear, this copy of _The Word of Da-Chao_ was identical to the one owned by Yumi Kisaragi. He remembered that night in the Pagoda of the Five Mighty Gods, remembered how startled and affronted she had looked at his expression of sympathy for her brother.

Pushing that unpleasant thought aside, he opened to the first page.

_I have passed through the mountains and the valleys, _he read.

_I have spoken with gods and with men._

_I have learned, and I have listened;_

_I will tell you all that I know._

_The Earth is our gift and our burden— _

_A living, breathing world._

_Its cries are faint to your ears, but I have heard them._

_I have tasted its pain._

The fires of Jien burned behind his eyes, ashes falling from the sky like rain. When the soil could hold no more of it, blood began to collect in pools, clotting the broken ground.

_I have borne its suffering as my own._

Screams filled the air, thicker even than the smoke. There was a pregnant woman the infantrymen had been passing between them, forcing her down next to her dead children as they took her savagely from behind. Later, after they were finished with her, they slit her belly, and that child joined the rest of them in the mud.

_I have prayed for its redemption._

Yumi's face glowed in the lantern light, her tousled hair as dark as ink. He healed the cut on her finger and asked her if she feared her gods. When she looked up at him, her eyes were like a storm.

_I know that this will not be enough._

Fire and lightning. Ice and earth. Black flies peppered the corpses, their glassy eyes staring endlessly. He saw not only the people of Jien; he saw the casualties from a distant past. The bodies piled high as mountains, far too many to count. The bronze face of Da-Chao scowled in its displeasure. Yumi looked at him accusingly as she fled the temple, and cold, rasping laughter echoed in his mind…


	5. Chapter Four Part Two

**Disclaimer: :'(**

**Author's note:** So this chapter turned out just a weeeeee bit longer than intended... Thanks for all the reviews, favs, and follows thus far! I really appreciate the support. Oh, and just a reminder about the **warnings** for this fic, since the last two chapters were pretty tame: adult content, swearing, violence, rampant alcoholism, generally effed up characters/situations...you get the idea. :D

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><p><strong>Chapter Four - Part Two<strong>

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><p>There was a knock at the door.<p>

Sephiroth snapped the book shut, dropping it on the side table as he rose to answer.

His visitor knocked again—a quick, impatient rap of the knuckles. Sephiroth checked the peephole and sighed, unbolting the door.

On the other side stood Zack Fair, clothed in a navy suit. Beneath his open jacket, a skinny black tie hung loosely around his neck, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, giving him the appearance of a Turk on holiday.

"Finally," the SOLDIER said, glaring half-heartedly at his superior. "I was afraid you'd skipped out on me. I went through a hell of a lot of trouble tracking you down. Guess you conveniently forgot to mention you'd moved, huh?"

"I've had other matters to consider," Sephiroth answered, nonplussed. He stepped aside, allowing Zack to pass into the foyer.

"Well fortunately for you, I'm not that easily offended—" He broke off, gaping as the general's apartment came into full view. "Damn—this is some bachelor pad!"

Sephiroth's lips twitched upward. "I suppose that's one way to describe it."

He watched as Zack flitted around, examining the various rooms and their furnishings with ample commentary. When he began rifling through the closet in the master bedroom, Sephiroth grew suspicious.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to find something for you to wear, obviously. You can't go out looking like that." He pointed at Sephiroth's bare chest for emphasis.

"Zack," the general began, "I'm not—"

"Don't even say it," the SOLDIER interrupted stubbornly. "You're not bailing on me now." He groaned in frustration. "Is _everything_ you own black?"

Sephiroth's eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with black?"

Zack ignored him, intent on his search.

"Aha!" he exclaimed a moment later, tossing Sephiroth a white V-neck undershirt. "Here we go."

"This?" Sephiroth asked skeptically.

"Just trust me, okay?"

As he pulled the shirt over his head, Zack emerged with a black sports coat, shoes, and pants. The outfit complete, general and officer studied Sephiroth's reflection in the floor-length mirror. Though he had never worn them before, the jacket and pants fit him well, the exposed white shirt stretching tightly across the muscles of his chest and stomach, a bit too snug for his liking.

"Not bad," Zack remarked with a grin. "Now you're ready to be my wingman."

"Your what?" Sephiroth asked as he turned, but the SOLDIER was already halfway to the door.

"Let's go, General," he called back cheerfully. "I've got a cab waiting for us outside."

A short ride later, they arrived at the entertainment district of Sector 7. Unlike the rest of Midgar, the streets here were alive with activity. Music blared from the doorways of bars and clubs, neon lights flashing in the darkness. Fashionable young men and women meandered along the strip, laughing and flirting as they traveled from one hangout to the next. Sephiroth tried to maintain a low profile, but his long silver hair was too easily recognized.

"Hey, look—it's Sephiroth!"

"General Sephiroth—hey!"

By the time he and Zack reached Cloud 9, an excited group had gathered around them, clamoring for Sephiroth's attention. The bouncers at the door of the club dealt with the crowd swiftly, ushering the general inside as they blocked the persistent fans. Only Sephiroth himself was allowed to slip by.

"Hey, let me in, you idiots!" he heard Zack yell behind him.

"Club's full," one of the bouncers said stonily as he shoved the SOLDIER back.

"Bullshit," Zack growled, hands clenching into fists. "I just saw you let General Sephiroth through. I'm friends with him, so step aside."

"Sure you are," the bouncer said, yawning.

The SOLDIER's face flushed red, his fist rising—

"He's with me," Sephiroth declared over the bouncer's shoulder.

The huge man nodded, and Zack pushed past him, blue eyes simmering with rage. They cut across the crowded dance floor, drawing a few stares as they made their way towards an empty circular booth in the back corner of the club. By the time they sat down, Zack's bad mood had largely dissipated, and he smiled winningly at the pretty server who appeared a moment later, her short black dress leaving little to the imagination.

"What can I get for you, gentlemen?"

"We'll start with whiskey on the rocks," Zack said smoothly. "The best stuff you've got."

She nodded, reappearing minutes later with two full tumblers and a glass of red wine.

"What's this?" Sephiroth asked when she set the glass before him.

"Our finest vintage, General. Compliments of the house." She flashed Sephiroth a smile as she sauntered away, long brown hair swaying with the motion of her hips.

"Nice," Zack said, grinning after her.

He raised his tumbler, and Sephiroth followed suit.

"To victory!" he cheered, his glass clinking against Sephiroth's.

The general smiled lightly, not quite sharing his enthusiasm.

He had scarcely finished his first drink when two more were placed before him—gifts from the club's patrons, the waitress said. Sephiroth passed one of them to Zack, who accepted it gladly, elbowing the general in the ribs.

"Such a popular guy," he said with a smirk. "The girls keep making eyes at you, including our waitress. She's really cute, isn't she?"

"I suppose."

"Oh, c'mon, Seph!" Zack growled, bringing his fist down on the marble tabletop. "Show some initiative! When was the last time you spoke with such a pretty girl?"

"Less than a week ago, in Wutai," Sephiroth answered easily, the alcohol loosening his tongue. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them.

Zack nearly fell out of his seat. "_What?_"

Sephiroth averted his gaze, finishing off the wine. "I don't want to talk about it."

"No way, General." The SOLDIER shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. "You can't just bring up something like that and not follow through with the details."

"There isn't much to say."

"Then why not just say it?"

"Because it's none of your business," Sephiroth bit out.

"Okay, okay," Zack said, raising his hands. "I get it. I've been burned a couple of times myself, believe it or not. Best way to forget about her is to find somebody new. Speaking of which…"

Two attractive young women approached their table, one blonde and the other brunette. The blonde seemed familiar to him, perhaps the daughter of a Shinra executive. She had an imperious air and sly, dark eyes.

"You seemed kind of lonely, General," she said to Sephiroth. "Mind if we join you?"

"Of course not," Zack answered readily, standing so that the girls could squeeze in between them.

The blonde sat at Sephiroth's side and immediately struck up a one-sided conversation. Apparently she was an actress, but the general didn't quite catch her name. He was beginning to feel lightheaded from drinking. He saw Zack attempt to engage her sour-faced friend, despite the girl's rather obvious disinterest.

Emboldened by the two's actions, other women also drew near, clustering around Sephiroth. Zack was soon pushed to the edge of the booth, and as time passed, Sephiroth watched the good-natured SOLDIER grow increasingly sullen.

When the waitress returned with an invitation for Sephiroth to join Rufus Shinra in the VIP room, the general felt almost as relieved as Zack looked. The spiky-haired SOLDIER waved him quickly away, smiling broadly once more at the throng of disappointed women.

The upstairs VIP room was a small, richly furnished lounge overlooking the dance floor. The back wall consisted entirely of clear glass, a pair of black leather couches partially obscuring the view. A billiards table stood near the entrance, the Vice President leaning his thigh against its polished edge as a waitress lit the end of his cigarette. At Sephiroth's approach, he sent her away with a nod, rolling up the sleeves of his black dress shirt.

"General Sephiroth," he greeted, smirking faintly, "how nice of you to join us. Would you care for a drink?"

"Thank you," Sephiroth answered curtly, "but I've already had more than enough."

On the couches behind Rufus, his entourage watched the exchange with similar smugness, sipping brandy and filling the room with cigar smoke. When another waitress bent to refill a glass, a man with a dark, heavy brow pulled her roughly into his lap, chuckling as she squirmed.

Sephiroth rounded on him.

"Let her go," he ordered coldly. "She clearly doesn't want your affection."

The brute glanced questioningly at Rufus, whose expression was bemused.

"Well, Anton, you heard the man," the Vice President said blithely. "Let the girl go."

Anton's arms fell slack, and the server pulled herself free, dashing from the room. Sephiroth's last ounce of courtesy towards Shinra vanished with her. He turned back to the Vice President, glaring.

"Why did you invite me here?"

"To the point, I see," Rufus said mildly. He took a slow draw of his cigarette as he considered his guest. "I can appreciate that."

He turned casually towards his henchmen, sweeping back his golden hair. "Leave us."

All of them—including the Vice President's hulking bodyguard—filed out of the room.

"Can I interest you in a game of darts, General?"

"No."

Rufus laughed, taking up the darts anyway. "I like you, Sephiroth, even if I do find your new celebrity status highly annoying. My father has a flair for the dramatic. He sees you as a symbol of Shinra's glorious future, but I see you for what you are."

"And that is?"

"A powerful ally." The dart sailed from his fingertips, striking the center of the board. "And a dangerous enemy. Father underestimates you. He sends you out on errands, fighting his pointless wars and turning you into a poster boy for Shinra Inc."

Sephiroth frowned. "You call the war with Wutai pointless?"

"I do," Rufus replied, "but only because I know the real motivation behind it. You are an excellent soldier, Sephiroth. You follow orders and accept whatever information is given to you. But the truth is that there was never anything worth fighting for in the first place. Since the beginning, our engineers have advised against the construction of Mako reactors in Wutai due to high volcanic activity. The country has a low natural abundance of materia, so mining is also unfeasible. There are precious metals and other resources, but from an economic standpoint, we sunk far more money into the war effort than we are ever likely to get out, at least in the foreseeable future."

Sephiroth braced his hand on the billiards table as the Vice President's words made impact. "Then, what you're saying is that…"

"What I'm saying," Rufus continued calmly, "is that the war against Wutai was all a sham. Its people were conquered only as a demonstration of power, a means of distracting the citizens of Midgar and its surrounding states from domestic troubles." He scoffed. "Not that I care for the troubles of the masses, but Father has always been so concerned with pleasing the people. He wants their love and devotion and will go to extreme lengths to obtain it, spending billions of gil fighting backward foreigners in the pursuit of 'glory' and turning our SOLDIER elite into a carnival act."

He left the darts in the board, returning to the billiards table and leaning over it, towards Sephiroth, a dark smile spreading across his pale face.

"But I have a different philosophy. I would control the people with fear. I would use the strength of our military and special forces to establish absolute order. All dissenters would be dealt with swiftly and harshly. Examples would be made, and our current state of unrest would cease to exist." He brought his fist down hard, making the billiard balls jump. "_Fear_, Sephiroth. Fear is the most practical solution, the best way to secure loyalty and to demonstrate the power of Shinra."

_This man_, Sephiroth thought in disbelief, his head pounding from the liquor, _he's even worse than his father_.

"Why?" he asked after a moment, staring at him narrowly. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"My old man has planned a little visit to Wutai," Rufus answered lightly, striding over to a glass table nearby. "The official reason for the trip is to discuss how the particulars of the peace treaty will be implemented. Trade routes must be re-opened, tribute must be established…" He removed the stopper from a crystal decanter and filled the tumbler in his hand. "It's all true, of course. Our stock value is still bleeding like a stuck pig, and even if Wutanese gold can't close the wound, it could at least stem the flow."

_He's dragging this conversation out on purpose_, Sephiroth thought irritably, _as if he'd rather have me guess his motives than state them outright._

Reluctantly, the general played along: "And the unofficial reason?"

Amber liquid swirled in the glass as Rufus raised it to his smirking mouth. "It's quite simple. He wants to gloat over his triumph. You see, when Godo Kisaragi refused Father's oh-so-generous offer to surrender, the old man took it as a personal insult. He wants to see Kisaragi bowed in defeat, to smile in his face as he strips him of his last shreds of authority. He'll want to see the spoils, too, but even his greed comes second to his pride." He filled another tumbler and passed it to Sephiroth, who accepted it mutely. "As I've told you, he's obsessed with his idea of being a beneficent leader and hates Kisaragi for failing to acknowledge him as such. Luckily, he had you to carry out the unpleasant task of winning the war and thinks that because of this the people of Wutai will still fall for his charade." Rufus snorted. "Regardless, my father's not a complete idiot. He wouldn't dare walk into the capitol unprotected. His first instinct was to have you by his side throughout the discussions, as a sort of bodyguard, but I convinced him to leave the matter of security to Heidegger."

"So as not to reinforce Shinra's affiliation with SOLDIER?"

"Yes, that was the gist of my argument," Rufus said dryly, "but I think we both know—don't we, General?—how utterly useless Heidegger is."

"An understatement," Sephiroth agreed, his voice cool. "So why would you encourage the President to trust Heidegger with his personal security? Unless…"

He trailed off, his gaze locking with the Vice President's. The air between them grew heavy, tense. Neither man seemed to breathe.

"You want him left unprotected," Sephiroth stated finally, his pupils mere slits. "You suspect an attack on the President's life and hope for its success."

"More than suspect," Rufus said with a smile. His blue eyes glinted, cold as glass. "I have eyes and ears in Wutai, watching and listening as we speak."

_Turks_. Sephiroth grimaced. O_f course._

"So it seems you have two choices, General," Rufus said evenly, setting down his empty glass as he approached the billiards table. He leaned over its edge, scanning the billiard balls scattered across the plane of green felt. "You can save my father from walking into a death trap"—he plucked the cue ball from its resting place, spinning it lightly in his fingers—"or you can let him die." His hand opened, and the ball crashed against the edge of the table before rolling into the pocket below.

"And if I do nothing," Sephiroth said slowly, considering, "if he dies, you will succeed him as President?"

"The matter of succession may not be so straightforward, unfortunately," Rufus answered, bitterness creeping into his tone. "As you know, I've held the position of Vice President for less than a year. There are others within the company who would consider me too inexperienced to lead Shinra Inc. They view me as weak, and if my father were to die now, they would certainly oppose my succession." He paused, looking gravely at Sephiroth. "That's why I need your support. With you and your SOLDIERs backing me, no one will dare dispute my claim for the title of President."

The general could not deny that he was impressed. Clearly, the Vice President had been meticulous in his plotting, revealing a shrewdness that Sephiroth had never suspected he possessed. Yet, though he himself had no regard for the current President, something nagged in the back of his mind, making him uneasy. His fingers tightened around the tumbler in his hand, its contents still untouched.

"To welcome the death of your own father," he spoke quietly, brow furrowing as he studied Rufus Shinra's remorseless expression, "I cannot comprehend it."

"You never knew your father, did you, Sephiroth?" Rufus countered, a gleam of derision in his eyes. "Well then, let me tell you that paternal 'love' is overrated. Be thankful you've never met him. In all likelihood, he would have been a terrible disappointment."

Unbidden, a recent memory rose in contradiction—the memory of Yumi Kisaragi, her grey eyes sad and tender as she held her father's prayer book to her heart…

Sephiroth lifted the tumbler to his lips, draining it all at once. This sudden action seemed to unsettle Rufus Shinra.

"If you show me loyalty," the Vice President said quickly, "if you remain silent about all that I have told you and support me when the time comes for my succession, I promise that you will be rewarded. You will be second only to me, with full authority over all military personnel and operations. You can live wherever you want and travel as you please, and no other Shinra executives will have jurisdiction over you, direct or otherwise."

_He knows_, Sephiroth thought with a pang of resentment, _he knows how his father condones Hojo's twisted experiments. He is dangling the key to my freedom before me, offering to release me from the grip of that madman._

"You have my word," Rufus said firmly, more than a hint of desperation in his tone. "Now, then, what is your answer? What will you do?"

Sephiroth set his glass down with a crack, numb to everything but the alcohol burning in his veins.

"I will tell the President exactly what I have heard…" he said as he turned, making his way toward the exit.

At the doorway, he paused, glancing back at Rufus Shinra, who had been looking after him in alarm, his right hand clutching the edge of the billiards table in a white-knuckled grip. Petty though it was, the general took a moment to savor the bastard's distress.

"…Nothing," he finished simply, turning his back to the Vice President and walking through the open door.

Outside the VIP room, Sephiroth sank against the wall, breathing deeply as he attempted to regain his bearings. Still somewhat disoriented, he descended the narrow staircase leading to the main floor of the club. He wandered toward the section of booths in the far corner, looking about him in confusion. The area was largely deserted, and Zack Fair was nowhere to be seen.

"Your friend left about twenty minutes ago, at the end of my shift." Sephiroth turned, finding their former waitress standing at his elbow, her tanned, slender arms crossed lightly under her chest. A shade fairer than her hair, her brown eyes watched him keenly. "He left with that blonde girl, the actress."

"Is that so," Sephiroth said flatly.

He realized that he should, perhaps, be annoyed with Zack for abandoning him, yet he could not find it in himself to care.

"Is there anything I can do for you, General?"

Sephiroth looked at her closely. "I thought you said your shift was over."

She moved towards him, a slight, secret smile playing at her lips. "I wasn't talking about drinks."

Sephiroth's back hit the wall as she pressed against him, her smooth, bare thigh sliding between his legs, parting him like a knife through butter. Her scant dress was pushed up almost to her hips, and Sephiroth bit back a groan when he realized she had nothing on underneath it.

"What's your name?" he asked, his hands gliding up her sides. She was tall and thin and perfectly proportioned.

"Mara," she answered, her smile turning impish as her fingertips skimmed the waistband of his pants, making his stomach muscles flinch.

"Mara…" Sephiroth murmured, struggling to remain coherent despite the haze of the liquor and the insistent, upward pressure of her thigh. "Tonight will be the only night…do you understand?"

"I understand," she said softly, her lips brushing his neck. She removed her hand from beneath his shirt and placed her fingers in his. "Come home with me."

She stepped back a little, gazing up at him expectantly. Her cheeks were flushed, and in her hooded eyes was a hunger he recognized only too well. It was the same empty lust that devoured men unthinking, that conquered nations for conquest's sake and gloried in its achievement.

It reviled him, repulsed him, even as it pulled him onward with gravitational force, out of the club and into Mara's apartment nearby. And as the door closed behind them with a sound of finality, and as she stripped him bare and drew him inside her with an urgency that almost fooled him, he found himself laboring yet again under the will of that faceless tyrant, whose familiar lash drove him on towards yet another meaningless ending, inevitable, he feared, as his fate.

* * *

><p>In the heart of the Red Light District, Yumi Kisaragi turned from the cobbled street, pulling her hooded cloak tighter about her shoulders as she gazed up at the pagoda before her. Red and white lanterns descended from the curved porch awning, illuminating a small hanging sign, the name Midnight Garden stamped across its surface in crimson ink.<p>

A group of men in uniform loitered on the wooden porch steps, smoking and carrying on drunkenly as a young girl in an ill-fitting red dress hovered anxiously nearby, cradling a bottle of sake in her thin arms. She couldn't be more than twelve years old, most likely the illegitimate daughter of one of the workers. As Yumi ascended to the porch, the dark-haired child noted her approach with evident relief, grateful, it seemed, to have another female presence close by. In the girl's distraction, however, the bottle slipped from her grasp and shattered on the planks below.

"Clumsy brat!" one of the customers roared, stalking towards her. "That sake cost me double 'cause of the shortage. You'd better hope Madam Ero still has some left."

The young girl cowered, trembling. Tears gathered in her wide blue eyes.

"What are you standing there for? Are you stupid?" the soldier continued to rage. "Go get more sake before I lose my patience!"

But the child was frozen in fear. When he saw that she would not move, the huge bearded man cursed, raising his shovel of a hand. The girl squeezed her eyes shut tightly, bracing for the blow that never came.

With surprising quickness, Yumi Kisaragi had darted forward, grabbing the drunk man by the wrist and throwing him unintentionally off balance. With a shout, he tumbled backward and landed at the bottom of the steps in a groaning heap, his temple bleeding from a strike against the railing. His companions, who had watched the whole scene in silence, now turned as one, fixing their hostile, bloodshot gazes on Yumi.

"Well?" she said after a pause, her voice sounding much stronger than she felt. "Your captain is injured. Take him home at once."

She watched the men with steely eyes, her heart hammering in her chest. When at last they began to amble slowly down the steps, Yumi slumped in relief, her cramped fingers twitching as they released the inside of her cloak. The soldiers hoisted the bearded man to his feet and carried him off, heeding her command without a word of protest, as if the past three years had never occurred and she were still a warrior worthy of respect…

"Miss?"

She felt a light tugging on her sleeve and looked down to find the little serving girl staring up at her in concern. Yumi managed a smile for the girl.

"Will you show me inside?" she asked.

The child nodded eagerly, taking Yumi by the hand and leading her through the main entrance and into a large reception room beyond. Yumi squinted in the dim light, her nose tingling from the sweet, grimy scents of smoke and incense that clouded the air. The space was decorated with gaudy silks and vases, the spare candlelight illuminating couches and cushions of deep vibrant colors, embroidered with gold thread, and low dusty tables of ebony wood, littered with crystal glasses and sake cups.

More soldiers like the ones outside could be seen lounging about in here, chatting and laughing with the young women who meandered among them, bowing and smiling as they refilled glasses and tempted customers towards the screen doors at the sides and back of the room. Having never visited a brothel before, Yumi watched in fascination as the beautiful workers plied their trade. Full red lips formed in teasing smiles. Loose kimonos slipped tantalizingly from bare shoulders. Dark eyes smoldered with intent as pale, slender fingers smoothed up and over uniformed thighs.

Intrigued, Yumi did not at first notice the stout, well-dressed woman hurrying towards them, her fat painted face flushed with anger. As she drew near, the child whimpered in terror, ducking behind Yumi's skirts.

"You!" the woman growled, breathing heavily. Her stumpy, silk-covered arm shot out, snatching the young girl from her hiding place. "Why aren't you outside serving those customers? Where is that bottle of sake?"

She gave the girl such a violent shake that she bit her lip, and soon blood was trickling down her chin. "I...they…" she choked, struggling to answer.

"Stop this!" Yumi cried, laying her hands on the woman's arms. "Those men left, so the child came inside."

"Hmph!" The woman released the girl and slapped Yumi's hands aside. "And who are you? I suppose you've come here looking for employment? Well, I've got more than enough troublesome girls on my hands at the moment, but if you have a lovely face, I might be willing to take you on." Still puffing angrily, she readjusted the jewel-encrusted pin in her graying hair and narrowed her cruel, piggish eyes at the darkness beneath the hood of Yumi's cloak. "Well?"

_This must be the Madam Ero the bearded captain spoke of_, Yumi thought in distaste, pushing back her hood.

She glared openly at the madam, her exquisite jewelry and the grey color of her eyes immediately revealing her rank. The fat woman blanched at this revelation, her too-red mouth falling open in shock.

"My—my lady!" Madam Ero exclaimed a moment later, almost toppling over in her haste to bow. She jerked the young serving girl down with her. "How may we be of…service…to you?"

The way the woman said 'service' made Yumi's skin crawl.

"I've come for my brother, Haru Kisaragi," Godo's niece said briskly. "I know he is staying here."

Of course, Yumi _didn't_ know for certain that Haru was here, but the fat madam struck her as a slippery individual, one who would not yield easily to questions. Better then, to state them as facts and see what information followed.

The old eel squirmed slightly, perhaps sensing the trap. "My lady," she began in an oily tone, "surely you are mistaken? This is not an inn, that your honored brother should take up residence here…"

"I know what this place is," Yumi snapped, indignant, but nonetheless relieved. For now she knew with certainty that Haru must be here; Ero's evasiveness all but confirmed it. "Take me to him."

Madam Ero hesitated, struggling as she decided which member of the royal family to betray. By now, their conversation had drawn the attention of the whole room. Several of the women, forgetting their customers entirely, had formed a loose circle around Yumi and the madam, whispering excitedly to one another behind their fans. Slipping past a screen door, one young woman stood slightly apart from the rest, her long, silky black hair showing a glimmer of gold in the lantern light. Her dark eyes watched Yumi intently, and as the fat woman vacillated, this girl at last stepped forward, a curious smile on her face.

"Yes, my lady, Lord Haru is here," she said, bowing to Yumi. "I can take you to him."

"L-Loki!" Madam Ero spluttered in outrage, her meaty hand clutching reflexively at her garish hairpin.

The prostitute Loki spared the fat woman a look of disdain, leading Yumi towards the same screen door she had emerged from only moments before. A short, broad hallway lay beyond. Yumi followed Loki quietly past a series of small rooms, the harsh, guttural sounds of lovemaking piercing easily through the erotically painted screens. Yumi blushed, her heart pounding with every step. She knew her brother would _not_ be pleased to see her here.

At the end of the hall, Loki turned to address Yumi, the screen door behind her bearing the image of a voluptuous woman kneeling between the legs of the man sprawled before her, her crimson lips parted as she prepared to take him into her mouth. The man's head was thrown back in anticipation of ecstasy, while three other naked women watched longingly from afar, their fingers cupping their swollen breasts and the fleshy junctions of their thighs...

"He's just beyond here, my lady," Loki said, her lips twisting wryly. "But perhaps you should wait outside for a moment…"

"Of course," Yumi said quickly, catching the girl's meaning. Her blush deepened. "I'll wait."

Loki nodded, disappearing into the room. A few minutes later, the screen door slid open to admit her, and Yumi entered, facing her brother at last.

Still clothed in his officer's uniform, Haru Kisaragi sat at a low table in the center of the room, scowling as he tipped a cup of sake to his lips. The room around him was small, dark and sparely furnished. A large bed lay in the far left corner, its burgundy sheets rumpled in a way that Yumi didn't wish to ponder. Next to the bed stood a short, plush couch, the back of which was braced against the heavily-curtained window. Pillows of the same dark red color were scattered about the room, as if they had been flung away in some haste. The only other furnishings were the low table of polished wood and a tall, matching shelf that occupied the length of an entire wall. The shelf was nearly bursting with books and scrolls and seemed quite out of place in this otherwise tawdry pleasure room.

The cup in Haru's hand dropped to the table with a clatter. As it fell, he rose, striding towards the two women still standing in the doorway.

"Out," he said wrathfully to Loki, shoving her past the screen door with one hand and grabbing Yumi by the arm with the other.

"Haru!" Yumi cried as he slammed the screen shut, hauling her forward. When he drew to a stop in the center of the room, she wrenched her arm away, her grey eyes sparking in anger. "What's the matter with you?"

"What are you doing here, Yumi?" he fired back at her instead.

"I've come to take you home," she answered stubbornly, setting her jaw.

"I'm not going back to that palace. There's no place for me there."

"What nonsense," Yumi said sharply. "Do you really think that Uncle would hold such words against you? He knows you spoke in anger. He will forgive you—he _wants_ to forgive you. So please, stop all this foolishness and return with me."

Her brother stared at her in sullen silence, a gloomy irritation replacing his previous fury. At last he sighed, collapsing to one of the cushions.

"I can't."

"Why not?" Yumi demanded, lowering herself to the cushion directly opposite him.

"Because things have changed, Yumi. I can't pretend that they haven't," he said shortly, his eyes narrowing at her. "How can you?"

Yumi frowned, her flinty gaze softening. Gently, she reached out, brushing his long, dark hair away from his face. Haru started at the touch of her fingers, looking at her in a strange, almost fearful way.

"We are still a family, Haru," she said in a quiet, steady voice. "That will never change."

At her words, her brother's eyes hardened. He pulled back from her in agitation.

"Don't speak to me of 'family'. The very word disgusts me."

"Haru!" Yumi exclaimed, hurt. "How can you say such a thing?"

"Your _uncle_," he began venomously, "has made a nice gift of us, don't you agree? How eager he is to lick Shinra's boot heels, stained though they are with the blood of his people. He even paraded you—his own flesh and blood—before their hungry eyes, and if they had wanted more than just a look, I have no doubt he would have obliged them." He sneered at Yumi's affronted expression. "No, I don't doubt it at all, little sister. And now, as if his depravity was not enough, I hear he has designs on our mother—his own sister, according to the law."

Yumi shook her head. "You misunderstand, Haru. Mama and Uncle truly love each other. There's nothing evil in that."

"So you condone this affair?" Haru challenged, glaring. "Do your gods now permit the union of brother and sister?"

"Of course not," Yumi snapped. "But there's no bond of blood between Mama and Uncle. The gods will allow this marriage."

"No bond of blood," her brother repeated bitterly, quietly, as if to himself. "That's all that matters, then." He glanced up at her, a mocking smile on his face. "It's interesting what your gods will and won't allow. They'll strike down a man for marrying his blood relation but do nothing when an army of wicked men lays waste to an entire village."

"SOLDIER will answer for its crimes," Yumi said with conviction, leaning forward across the low table, her eyes imploring. "So, please, Haru, don't speak this way. You can't go on like this, hating the gods because of what has happened to Wutai."

As she spoke, a lock of black hair streamed down over her shoulder, pooling on the surface of the table. Slowly, as if in restraint, Haru extended his hand and trailed his fingertips through the dark, shining pool.

"Perhaps I _could_ forgive the gods," he murmured, gazing up at her with disturbing intensity, "if that were their only injustice against me."

Yumi drew back from him, gooseflesh prickling her skin. There was something wrong with her brother…something deeply, terribly wrong.

_Is he losing his mind?_ she worried. _This place…he's languished here for too long. It's deranged him._

Shakily, Yumi stood, holding out her hand.

"Come with me, Haru," she said tremulously. "Leave this place."

He ignored her outstretched hand, rising to his feet on his own. The unsettling look in his eyes had vanished so completely that Yumi began to wonder if she'd imagined it in the first place.

"I'm not leaving, Yumi," Haru said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Why?" she asked, her eyes flashing. "What's holding you here?"

Her directness seemed to catch him off guard. He glanced away.

"That woman who brought you here—Loki," he admitted reluctantly, "I'm in love with her."

"In love with her? Haru, don't lie to me…"

"I'm not lying," he said, his mouth a thin line. "Why would I lie about something so shameful?"

"Because the truth is even worse," Yumi replied darkly, her eyes narrowed. "You're plotting an attack against Shinra, aren't you?"

He hesitated for only an instant, but his sister saw it all the same.

"Ridiculous," Haru scoffed. "Look around you, Yumi. Where are my accomplices? Where are my plans? Am I to lead an army of whores against Shinra's troops?" He smiled condescendingly. "But maybe you think I've been going somewhere else to scheme? Fine—then ask the whores. Ask as many as you like. For enough gold, you'll be sure to have their honest answer: that I haven't left this place since returning from the palace."

Yumi stared at him, unconvinced.

"Be careful, brother," she said coolly, attempting to provoke him, "if you do act rashly against Shinra, Uncle may not be able to save you."

"If anyone needs saving, it'll be him, not me," Haru retorted hotly.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

At first her brother said nothing, realizing he'd been tricked. He glared at her resentfully, color rising in his cheeks.

"Only that his new 'friendship' may prove short lived, should Shinra tire of him," Haru explained through gritted teeth.

But Yumi scarcely heard his fabricated explanation. Her mind was still reeling from the words he'd said in that burst of temper—honest words, she knew. Her uncle's life was unquestionably in danger.

_He has learned of President Shinra's upcoming visit. He must be planning an attack on the palace_, she realized with a chill of dread, looking up at him. _Oh, Haru, how could you…? How low you have sunk in your madness, to be willing to take your uncle's life in the pursuit of vengeance… _

"…Yumi?"

She blinked, suddenly conscious of the tears blurring her vision. They spilled over as she moved swiftly forward, catching her brother in a fierce embrace. She pressed her wet cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

"Please," she whispered, her fingers wrinkling the fabric of his uniform, "please, don't do this, Haru. Think of Mama…think of Father…even if you do not think of me…"

With a sigh, Haru disentangled himself from her arms. He stepped back, and the few feet between them became a gulf of silence. Looking at Yumi across the distance, his expression twisted, as if the sight of her caused him physical pain.

"You should go," he said to her thickly.

Yumi made no reply. She looked at him in unconcealed despair, touching her fingers briefly to his wrist before she turned and headed for the door.

As she pushed back the screen, Yumi discovered Loki standing just on the other side, clearly eavesdropping. The prostitute's dark eyes widened in panic. Quickly, she scrambled backward, away from the door, bowing her head in shame.

Yumi closed the screen behind her with a snap, her initial anger soon bleeding away as she glimpsed the girl's tearstained face. Just how much of the conversation she had heard, Yumi could not say, but certain parts of it had obviously left their mark.

_She loves my brother_, Yumi thought sadly, feeling a twinge of guilt. _His words…and mine…must have wounded her deeply. _

Godo's niece stepped forward, taking Loki's hands. The girl looked up at her warily, her hard, jaded eyes still red-rimmed from weeping.

"Help him," Yumi entreated softly, "help him if you can."

The girl relaxed, nodding faintly in assent.

Releasing her hands, Yumi turned, walking quietly down the hallway and entering the main room once again. At this late hour, the entertaining space was practically empty. In the far right corner, a few women struggled to heft a semi-conscious soldier to his feet, while the little dark-haired serving girl wove between the dusty tables, collecting the empty cups and bottles. From the fresh bruise darkening her cheek, it seemed another one of her charges had met an untimely end.

As Yumi's heart ached for this poor, mistreated girl, an idea came suddenly to mind.

"Come here, child," she said in a clear voice.

The little girl jumped in surprise, a few of the cups in her arms falling to the floor. Without bothering to set the others down, she hurried over to Yumi and gave her an awkward bow.

"Yes, my lady?" she asked timidly, peeking up at her.

"What's your name, little one?"

"Kana, my lady."

"Is your mother awake, Kana? I'd like to speak with her."

The little girl shook her head, fidgeting. "Sh-She's dead, my lady."

Another cup clattered to the floor. Yumi knelt down before her, gently removing the rest of her burden. The little girl smiled at her weakly.

"Kana, would you like to live with me at the palace?"

"The palace?" she gasped, her blue eyes wide as saucers. "I—oh yes, my lady, I would!"

Yumi smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind Kana's ear. "Very well then. Pack your belongings. I will send for you in the morning."

"Th-Thank you, my lady!" Kana said excitedly.

With another messy bow, the child bounded away, her previous task forgotten.

Across the room stood a large, ostentatious screen that Yumi assumed was the entrance to Madam Ero's quarters. Beseeching the gods for patience, she approached the screen door, knocking lightly against the wooden frame.

"Oh, what is it _now_?" Ero's voice growled from the other side.

Yumi gave no answer, waiting as the madam drew near with heavy, waddling footsteps. A few seconds later, Ero thrust her pudgy face through a gap in the screen, puffing from exertion. Seeing who her visitor was, the woman's scowl transformed into a simper, and she opened the door wide, curling into a deep bow. With her doughy form and excessive face powder, she bore a striking resemblance to an uncooked sweet roll.

"My lady," she oozed, "to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

"I have a matter to discuss with you. May I enter?"

"Of course!" the madam cried, bowing again as she beckoned Yumi inside.

Just beyond the doorway was a broad, open space that apparently served as Madam Ero's office. Yumi followed her over to a sizable desk at the center of the room, the dark polished surface scattered with scrolls, ink, and gold coins. Before Yumi's interruption, it seemed Ero had been counting her earnings—no doubt among her favorite pastimes. She gestured Yumi toward a red silk cushion on one side of the gold pile and, tipping her fat snoozing dog off the opposite cushion, plopped down on the other side.

"Tea, my lady?" she offered, patting her wispy hair with one hand as she gesticulated towards a dirty teapot covered in chipped gold leaf.

"No, thank you," Yumi said stiffly, eager to have this business done. "There is a child in your care, a young girl named Kana. With your consent, I would like to take custody of this girl. She will live at the palace as my legal ward, with all the rights and privileges thereof."

"Your ward?—that useless whelp?" Madam Ero exclaimed in utter shock. "My lady, you jest!"

"I assure you, _madam_, I am perfectly serious," Yumi said, rising to her feet. "Now, if you have no other objections, I will be on my way."

"No _objections_, my lady, none at all!" Ero said quickly, a greedy gleam appearing in her little black eyes. "However, there is one _small_ issue..."

Yumi frowned, watching as Ero began sifting through her mass of scrolls. At last, she extracted a single document, lifting it for Yumi's inspection.

"This is a record of debt," Godo's niece stated, scanning the account. "A list of all expenses incurred by you as a result of Kana and her deceased mother."

"Very observant, my lady!" Ero said with a greasy smile. "When the girl's mother fell ill and could no longer work, I paid for their upkeep and have continued to provide for the orphan out of my own generosity and, as you can see, at great personal cost. There was an understanding that the girl would work for me until these debts had been repaid. Mine is a humble living, sweet lady, and, quite frankly, I cannot _afford_ to part with Kama under any other terms."

Yumi had listened to her blathering with growing agitation, all the while skimming the seemingly endless inventory of expenses. Each entry in the list had been recorded in meticulous detail, down to the last grain of rice, and the value of the items had been grossly exaggerated. The child could work for a hundred years and never see the end of this debt—which, Yumi suspected, was the point entirely.

As the madam reached the end of what she surely considered a very fine story, Yumi's frustration finally boiled over.

"Kana," she said, fixing the woman with an icy glare.

Ero blinked. "My—my lady?"

"Kana," Yumi seethed again, tearing the scroll of debts to shreds, "the girl's name is Kana, not _Kama_."

The fat old eel screeched in horror at the destruction of her precious record, clutching at the pieces of scroll as they floated down through the air.

"My lady! What is the meaning of this?" she wailed.

Wordlessly, Yumi reached behind her head, pulling loose the hairpin that held back a portion of her tresses and dropping it unceremoniously on the table. The ancient hairpin glistened in the low light, a masterpiece of solid gold, wrought with diamonds and emeralds and worth more than an entire village. The sight of this treasure seemed an instant consolation to Madam Ero, whose stubby fingers flexed eagerly towards it.

"That should be more than enough to cover the cost of scraps and rags," Yumi said, looking at her in contempt. "Consider the debt repaid."

With that, Godo's niece turned, storming from the room in a whirl of green silk. She passed quickly through the rest of the establishment and soon found herself standing outside on the porch, expelling the Garden's stagnant air from her lungs.

_Merciful gods,_ she prayed as she descended the wooden steps, _please let that be my _only_ visit._

She had barely set foot on the cobblestones when she heard a man's voice hailing her from a bar across the street. As the figure approached, Yumi's face paled, and she berated herself inwardly for forgetting to replace her hood.

"Lady Yumi," he greeted with a friendly smile.

Unlike most of his fellow revelers, this young man did not appear intoxicated in the least. His clothing was unwrinkled and immaculate, his dark eyes perfectly clear. The long black hair that extended past his shoulders had been secured at the nape, and not a strand was out of place.

"Agent Tseng," Yumi said politely, inclining her head. "I thought you had left the capitol days ago."

"The higher-ups decided I should remain here," he responded dryly. "Something about my being able to blend in with the crowd."

"I suppose that explains your change in attire."

He smirked. "The black suit _is_ rather conspicuous. And while we're on the subject of sticking out like a sore thumb, I can't help but wonder at seeing _you_ here, my lady. If you don't mind my asking, what brings you to the Red Light District at this late hour?"

"I do mind, actually," Yumi said in a firm voice, refusing to submit to the Turk's thinly-veiled interrogation. "Good night, Agent."

She gave him slight bow and set off down the street, raising the hood of her cloak.

"Wait, my lady."

Reluctantly, she paused.

"At least allow me to escort you part of the way," he said, seeming sincere. "A lovely young woman should not walk these streets alone. It'll be safer if I'm with you."

"Will it?" Yumi said doubtfully, her granite eyes barely visible beneath the shadow of the hood.

Without waiting for his reply, Godo's niece resumed her course. The Turk promptly fell into step beside her, and for a long while they walked in silence, as Yumi stubbornly refused to acknowledge his presence.

"Do you believe all men who serve Shinra are evil, Lady Yumi?"

"Evil?—no," she answered grudgingly, coming to a stop. "But to serve a wicked man is to perpetuate his crimes." She pushed back her hood, glaring at him in disapproval. "_The Word _reminds us of this."

They had reached a more residential area of the city. In the hours before dawn, the darkness around them was soft and peaceful. Orange lanterns winked from the porches of homes and shops, glowing with sleepy warmth. The small surrounding gardens glistened with dew and filled the dense summer air with fragrance. At the edge of one such garden, Yumi and Tseng now stood, the branches of a towering cherry tree hanging just above them.

The Turk looked at her intently. "And if a man commits such acts only out of necessity, in the pursuit of a goal that is good, is he still nothing more than a criminal?"

"What a goal it must be," Yumi replied in quiet scorn, her voice simmering with outrage, "for a man not only to abandon his homeland, but to assist wholeheartedly in its destruction."

"My childhood experiences in Wutai were no doubt less happy than yours, my lady," Tseng said mildly. "Even so, it doesn't please me to see this country crushed by Shinra. And though your love for Wutai is so great, there must be some cause for which even you would sacrifice it." His sharp look pierced her like a blade. "What wouldn't _you_ give, Lady Yumi, to save the ones you love?"

Frozen grey eyes stared back at her from the bowels of memory, the steady patter of blood on stone echoing in her ears. And nearer, louder—deafening, even in remembrance—the almost inhuman scream that had torn itself from her throat...

_Anything_. She swallowed, dark lashes lowering briefly over her haunted gaze. _I would give anything._

"There is someone I, too, wish to protect," Tseng said quietly, plucking a cherry blossom from one of the branches. He twirled the pink flower idly in his fingers. "In order to do so, I need power and authority within the company, and if gaining that position meant betraying Wutai a thousand times, I would do it gladly." He glanced at Yumi, a small smile on his lips as he placed the blossom in her unbound hair. "You remind me of her, in a way. That's why I'm warning you to be careful, my lady. It may not be safe for you to trust in old friends."

"Nor new ones, I imagine," Yumi said evenly, despite the fear that gripped her at his words.

_How much does he know? _She wondered anxiously, searching his hawk-like eyes in vain. _How much does he suspect…?_

"New friends least of all," Tseng agreed, his smile widening as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "But I can see you've had enough of my companionship, Lady Yumi. As much as I'd prefer to escort you the rest of the way home, I will respect your wishes and leave you in peace." With a polite bow, he began to walk away. After only a few steps, however, he paused, turning back to her, a knowing smirk on his face. "Oh, and by the way, my lady…should your business ever take you to Midnight Garden again, I'd suggest you leave through the gentlemen's door."

"The 'gentlemen's door'?" Yumi repeated, perplexed.

"Every brothel in the Red Light District is connected to at least one inn or tavern by an underground passageway. Midnight Garden is no exception," Tseng explained. "These gentlemen's doors are quite convenient for protecting the reputation of brothel patrons—and their health, too, I suspect, depending on the jealousy of their wives." His onyx eyes glittered in amusement. "The noble men of Wutai would certainly condemn me for revealing this secret to a lady such as yourself, but I feel your honor to be far more deserving of protection than theirs. And I am, as we both know already, a good-for-nothing traitor." He bowed again. "Forgive me for detaining you further, my lady. For tonight, at least, I'll trouble you no more."

Yumi watched him go in silence, his slim dark figure soon melding with the shadows. Absently, she touched the flower above her ear, frowning in thought.

By the time she reached the palace grounds, the first light of dawn was creeping over the horizon, casting the world in a sickly hue. Exhausted, Yumi pulled herself over a section of vine-covered wall and dropped gracelessly to the other side. Pushing the thought of sleep to the back of her mind, she trudged resolutely toward the western gardens, where she found her uncle sitting on a grassy slope beneath a maple tree, legs crossed and eyes closed in meditation.

Times of prayer and reflection were sacred, and under normal circumstances Yumi would never disturb them. But this, she felt, could not wait another second.

"Uncle?"

Lord Godo started, his eyes opening towards her in surprise.

"Yumi," he said, the lines of worry returning to his face as he stood. "What is it, child? You're trembling."

Yumi stilled herself as best she could. "Uncle, you must speak with President Shinra immediately and urge him to delay his visit to the palace."

"Delay him?" Godo said, his brow furrowing. "For what purpose? …And how is it that you know of his visit?"

"I…overheard you and Mama discussing it in her chambers several nights ago," Yumi admitted, her cheeks coloring slightly.

Godo tensed, flushing as well. "Yumi, I…"

"Never mind that, Uncle," she said hastily, hoping to spare them both the awkwardness. His and her mother's engagement was official now—what was the point of hashing out that scene? "What's important is that Haru knows of the visit as well. I've only just now returned from meeting him, and I'm certain he's planning to lead an assault against the palace during President Shinra's stay."

For a while, Lord Godo said nothing, his lips thinning as he considered her words.

"Do you have proof of this?" he asked gravely.

"…No," Yumi answered, deflating. "But you must believe me, Uncle. I know how Haru thinks. I could tell his intentions from the way he spoke." She looked at him desperately. "There is so much hatred in his heart; thoughts of revenge consume him. He is reckless, dangerous, and it'll take more than a few days' time for me to bring him to reason. Shinra's spies are watching him; I met with one of them, too, and I have a terrible feeling that they are also aware of his plans, and—"

"Yumi," her uncle interrupted gently, placing his hands on her shoulders, "calm yourself, child. I believe you, truly I do—but I cannot hope to delay Shinra's visit on belief alone. If I still had the authority to do so, I would lead a thorough investigation. Unfortunately, I do not," he added with resentment. "I know it is of small comfort to you, but for now we can only trust that if the Turks have indeed discovered Haru's plots, they will stop him."

"Stop him?" Yumi echoed in disbelief, shrugging away from her uncle's touch. "_Arrest_ him, you mean? By the time the Turks intervene, it will be too late to even hope for his redemption. If there is really nothing you can do to sway Shinra, then please, Uncle, come with me at once. Between the two of us, perhaps we can convince Haru to return to the palace—"

"No," Lord Godo said sternly, his dark gaze cold and unyielding. "I will not go to him, and neither will you. From now on, Yumi, you are forbidden to leave the palace grounds."

His words crashed into her like a wave.

"You're afraid," she stated in breathless accusation. "You're afraid of what Shinra might do if you're seen fraternizing with a dissenter, and so you're abandoning him." Her eyes hardened even as they gleamed with pain. "You're abandoning my brother."

"I could not stop Haru from choosing this path, but I will _not_ allow him to expose the rest of my family to destruction," Godo declared as he turned away, unable to face her any longer. "Guards!"

Two men in bronze armor approached, spears in hand.

"Escort my niece to her chambers and ensure that she remains there until I command otherwise."

The guards bowed deeply, stepping forward and taking Yumi lightly by the arms.

"Uncle," she pleaded as the guards began to steer her away, "Uncle, look at me!"

But the Lord of Wutai would not be moved.

* * *

><p>Hours earlier, in the small dark room behind the bookcase in Loki's den, Haru Kisaragi sat at the head of a squat wooden table, a map of the palace grounds spread out before him, its corners held flat by bottles of sake. Every point of entrance had been marked and accounted for. Battle lines had been drawn, and the time of attack had been decided. Now all that remained was to watch and wait.<p>

"Another shipload of troops arrived today from Junon, my lord," Kanto Jho remarked smoothly from the other end of the table, his lip curled in an ever-present look of distaste. "Some hundred more than expected."

Reluctantly, Haru raised his eyes from the map. "Any SOLDIERs among them?"

"No, my lord," Jho replied, sneering. "Just more of Heidegger's milk-bloods, sent to take up space in the old city barracks."

"Then there should be no need to re-allocate forces," Haru decided. "Our warriors are worth ten of theirs at least. We can still afford to direct the brunt of the assault at the Water Pagoda, leaving one of your platoons behind to hold the main gates."

"As you say, my lord."

"But, sir…what if Shinra sends even more reinforcements between now and then?" Shiro questioned from Haru's right. "The men left at the gates will be overwhelmed for sure."

"So be it," Haru said in irritation. "I can't spare another fifty men at the gates. The Water Pagoda must be surrounded quickly, or else that bastard Shinra will find a way to weasel out. As soon as he and Godo are dead, we'll regroup and crush the rest of Heidegger's troops."

Shiro frowned, grasping at his hair. "Yes, sir…"

A few moments of silence passed as Haru reached across the map to refill his empty cup. He couldn't recall how many bottles of sake he'd consumed over the course of the evening, determined to drown out his most recent memories. Vain though his efforts had so far proved, he persevered, his features darkening as he drained his fresh new cup in one vehement swallow.

"My lord," Jho began, eyeing him warily, "the hour has grown late. If there is nothing else you require, I will return to the palace."

Haru waved him away indifferently, relishing the sear of the alcohol in his throat. With a slight bow, the commander made his exit through the gentlemen's door behind him, leaving Shiro and Haru alone.

"Haru," Shiro said, setting in on him the moment the door closed, "are you certain you can trust him?"

"Who?"

"…Commander Jho."

"Of course," Haru said simply, feeling quite confident about all the choices he'd ever made. "Kanto Jho is a greedy, black-hearted fool, but greedy men are easy to trust if you know you can give them the best reward. Once I'm Lord of Wutai, I've promised to make him city-lord of Ijin."

"City-lord?" Shiro blinked. "But that's the second-highest rank."

"A position he could never have dreamed of attaining on his own, without a single drop of noble blood in his veins," Haru said, scowling. "Honestly, it aggravates me to grant him such a title, but I need his men. He alone brought half his fucking army to the capitol, and many of them remained even after the treaty was signed, no doubt hoping for a handout."

Haru poured himself another cup.

"You know, Haru," Shiro ventured cautiously, his brown eyes so annoyingly sincere, "it's not…too late. To stop this, I mean."

"Shut up," the former commander snapped, downing his drink ruthlessly. Shiro flinched. "You sound like my sister." He glared hatefully at the empty cup. "She came here to visit me, did you know that?"

"_Here?_" Shiro exclaimed.

"Cornered me in the room upstairs, the little witch," he said with a humorless smile. "She begged me to return with her to the palace, not knowing I'd rather die than submit to her uncle's so-called rule. He's a traitor, and a thief besides. My grandfather went to his grave believing he'd been cheated of his rightful heir. Twenty-five generations of grey-eyed Lords, and it's the first dark-eyed one who sells us down the river. That's more than mere coincidence, if you ask me." His jaw clenched in anger. "But _she_, for all her love of gods and tradition, champions the cause of that imposter, and pouts and flashes her eyes at _me_, and insists that _I_ am wrong."

Haru's hand struck out, sending the half-full bottle of sake crashing to the floor. Cursing, he sank to a crouch, stretching his fingers toward the puddle of ceramic shards, the sudden change in elevation making his head spin.

As he leaned back against the table leg, the pale, angelic face of his tormentor rose before him, her grey eyes silvered in the meager light.

_"…even if you do not think of me…"_

"Not think of you?" He chuckled bitterly. "Every thought I _have_ is of you."

"Haru?" Shiro asked in concern, joining him on the floor. "…Are you all right?"

Haru gazed at him unfocused. "It's killing me, Shiro. It has been killing me for the longest time."

"What has?"

"To love someone," he began tortuously, "to love someone so completely, so…" He shook his head, unable to find the words. "And to know…to know that if you were to ever make your love known, that person would despise you…"

Shiro looked at him in sudden anguish, and Haru scoffed, struggling to his feet.

"Don't look at me that way," he bit out angrily. "Don't pretend that you can understand how I feel."

"Where are you going?" Shiro asked, rising to his feet as well.

"To bed," Haru answered shortly, "so leave me alone."

He climbed the short staircase and pressed his weight against the back of the bookshelf, pushing it open. Replacing it, he turned, stripping off half his clothes before he even noticed that Loki was there. She was sitting upright on the bed in the far corner, wrapped in a robe of wine-colored silk, her dark eyes watching him uncertainly.

"So you've finally slunk back," he said, stalking towards her. "What the hell were you thinking, bringing my sister here?"

"Forgive me, my lord," she said quietly, standing as he drew to a stop before her, "but I had to know."

"Know what?"

"If she was the one." Her eyes flicked up to meet his, glinting in understanding. "The one you love."

"Idiot," Haru seethed, nonetheless taking a step back. "Of course, I love her—she's my sister."

"I saw how you looked at her," Loki continued undeterred. "You don't love her like a sister. You picked _me_ because I resemble her."

"Enough," he snarled, his hands balling into fists. "I won't hear any more of your whore's trash."

Slowly, she advanced, her gaze strangely tender as she slid her arms around his too-tight chest.

"It's all right, my lord," she whispered, and Haru realized he was trembling. "It's all right…"

"No," he rasped, his traitorous hands tangling themselves in her near-perfect hair. "No, it isn't."

"You can't help what you feel," she said, distancing herself from him slightly, a bitter smile on her lips. "But I can help you. Let me help you, my lord. Please."

He stared at her, his heart racing wildly, as if he were seeing her for the first time.

"My name," he said lowly, his fingers guiding back her head, tilting her face towards his. "Say it."

"Haru," she spoke, a shade of wonder in her voice as she gazed up at him. "Haru…"

His mouth captured hers swiftly, moving over her lips with bruising force. When she moaned, his tongue slipped inside her, tasting every inch, while his free hand moved over her shoulder and breast, seeking the tie of her robe. He tugged viciously at the knot, and the silky cloth split open, exposing a swathe of her white, flawless skin. Loki's breathing quickened as his mouth descended along this new path, kissing a burning trail from neck to navel.

On his knees now before her, he raked his tongue across her inner thigh, making her shiver in need. He could smell the desire gathering between her legs, musky and sweet, and buried his nose in her soft thatch of curls, inhaling deeply.

"Her name, Haru," Loki whimpered, her nails scraping against his scalp. "Tell me her name."

Haru tipped her back against the mattress, her pearly thighs parting as she fell. He spread them further with his hands, until her glistening pink sex lay fully revealed before him, and he sighed, a broken man:

"Yumi…"


	6. Chapter Five

**DISCLAIMER:** Still don't own :(

**Author's note:** So I could sit here and list all the million excuses for why I'm so late updating, but that'd only delay this chapter even more. All I can say is, thank you all so much for your wonderful comments. It's your encouragement that keeps motivating me to continue, despite all the craziness of real life. :) Hope y'all enjoy, and hopefully it won't be nearly so long till next time!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

* * *

><p>For five days, Yumi Kisaragi had been more or less confined to her quarters, with no company save for that of Minnea Jho. The blonde had tried her best to ease her friend's isolation, bringing her little trinkets and bits of gossip from the outside world, but Yumi could scarcely feign interest. Fear for her family consumed her, and the helplessness of her situation left her depressed and anxious by turns.<p>

Without resorting to old ways, escape seemed impossible. Her uncle had two guards stationed outside the entrance to her chambers at all times, and her windows were constantly under watch. On the second day of her confinement, she'd managed to bribe one of the servants into delivering a message to her brother. But when that servant did not reappear the next day, and none of the others dared to speak so much as a word to her, Yumi realized her attempt to contact Haru had been in vain.

Although Minnea had helped Yumi uphold her promise of bringing Kana to the palace, she knew that her chatty friend could not be trusted to relay more confidential information. With her greatest confidant away visiting old acquaintances in Ijin, Yumi had been forced to wait out her absence in feverish anticipation, unable to urge her mother to cut her trip short without arousing unwanted suspicion.

By the end of the fifth day, Yumi had grown haggard from lack of sleep and food, her tireless pacing wearing the rich floor mats—and her houseguest's patience—reed-thin.

"Yumi," Minnea wailed from a nearby sofa, pulling a wriggling Lily into her lap, "you're making me nervous with all that walking back and forth. Come sit down with me."

Yumi slowed, pressing the red prayer book closer to her chest. With effort, she lifted her tired gaze from the floor and let it rest on the pinched expression of her friend.

"Forgive me, Minnea," Yumi said wearily, the words striking hollow even to Minnea's ears. "I'm afraid I haven't been a proper host to you these past few days."

"Well, that's an understatement," the blonde huffed. "How much longer do you plan to sulk? It's your strange behavior that's keeping you locked up, I'm sure."

Yumi's lips drew into a line. "Then I suppose I'll be here awhile yet."

"Ugh, you are so depressing! Don't you _want_ to leave these rooms? There's so much going on around the palace these days, in preparation for President Shinra's grand arrival. General Heidegger's men have been practicing their welcome march in the yards. It's sure to be a fine show!"

_A fine show, indeed_, Yumi thought sourly, turning her eyes to the window. She'd glimpsed the Shinra troops a few times before, twirling their shiny new rifles to the tune of a trumpet, and wondered if battle should come, how many of them would know which end of the gun to point.

"So Shinra's visit is common knowledge?" Yumi asked doubtfully, returning her attention to her friend.

"Oh, no!" Minnea giggled, ruffling Lily's ears. "Father told me it was a _secret_, though I don't see any harm in sharing it with you. After all, who are _you_ going to tell, confined to your rooms as you are."

"And just how long have you known?" Yumi's eyes narrowed as she advanced a step. "Who else have you told?"

Minnea frowned, sinking back into the couch. In her lap, Lily gave a low growl.

"Yumi, dear, there's no need to get upset—"

"_Who else?_"

"No one!" Minnea gasped, clutching at the neck of her scarlet dress. "I haven't told anyone else, I swear!" Sapphire eyes glittered with apprehension. "Gods, Yumi…what's gotten into you?"

Godo's niece ignored her, collapsing onto a cushioned bench across the room. A subtle tremor wracked her frame. She felt dizzy, nauseous, fears and anxieties darting through her mind like fish in a stream, and she raised a trembling hand to her brow, as if doing so might help to seize them.

_Kanto Jho, you absolute fool…_

For the next half hour or so, she and Minnea sat together without speaking, until the sound of some commotion beyond the doorway broke their uneasy silence.

"—_under guard?_" a muffled voice exclaimed in outrage. "—_out of my sight_—"

Both women flinched as the screen door crashed open, the slight form of Saya Kisaragi appearing before them moments later, cheeks flushed red with fury. Her chest heaved beneath layers of blue and gold silk, obsidian eyes burning dark fire.

"Leave us," she snapped, and Minnea jumped to her feet, snatching up Lily as she fled.

"Mama," Yumi began carefully, folding her hands into her sleeves as she stood, "I can explain—"

"Explain?" Saya seethed, striding towards her, a few tendrils of hair escaping from the elaborate bun at her nape. "_My_ daughter, spotted in the Red Light District, visiting brothels and carrying on with strange men in the streets. A fine subject for those old devils in Ijin to bring up at tea! I could see how it pleased them, to slight me through your actions. They never deemed me worthy of marrying your father—me, a mere merchant's daughter—and my engagement to your uncle rankles them to the core. I had thought their words nothing more than vile rumor, yet now I find you here under _lock and key_, forbidden to leave your rooms…"

Yumi bore out Saya's tirade in growing resignation, uncertain whether any words she might say could reach her mother now. Nonetheless, she intended to try, and as her mother paused to catch her breath, Yumi seized her opportunity.

"Some nights ago," she began again, bracingly, "I was…compelled to visit the Red Light District—"

"So it _is_ true," Saya interrupted, shaking her head in despair. "Oh, Yumi, how could you? How could you do something so reckless—"

"I had no choice," Yumi bit out. "It was the only way I could meet Haru."

The sound of her son's name gave Saya pause. She looked up at Yumi, her eyes softening slightly.

"Haru…you spoke with him?"

"Yes," Yumi answered, hesitant.

"And is he well?" Saya asked eagerly, moving forward and clasping her daughter's fingers. "Does he wish to return to the palace?"

Yumi looked down at their joined hands, her expression grim.

"I couldn't persuade him to return. He…" she trailed off, remembering the mad fervor in his eyes, the ill-contained rage he'd directed towards Lord Godo and the Shinra. And towards herself, that moment of strange and unsettling intensity. "He is not himself."

"What do you mean?" Saya questioned, panic rising in her voice. "Yumi…?"

Yumi met her mother's gaze, the sentence falling from her lips like a heavy stone. "Mama, I fear that Haru will attack the palace during President Shinra's stay."

A heartbeat of silence passed between them.

"No," Saya stated, tightening her grip. "You are mistaken."

"If you could write to Haru," Yumi continued undeterred, "if you could persuade Uncle to let us go to him, perhaps we could convince him to abandon his plans—"

"_No_," Saya said again, releasing Yumi abruptly as she turned and began making her way toward the entrance. "I won't hear any more of this. My son has said some harsh words, to be sure, but he would never do such a thing. This is his _home_."

Yumi followed, gritting her teeth. "Mama, listen to me—"

"Haru will see reason in time. Until then, I think we had best leave him be. I'll speak to Lord Godo about lifting your guard, but perhaps it is best if you remain within the palace walls until the negotiations with Shinra are complete."

The screen door slid open, and Saya stepped through, passing between the two guards stationed outside in the hall. Before Yumi could even attempt to follow, the guards' spears fell before her in the shape of an X, blocking her path.

"Wait!" she cried, straining against the barricade of bronze. "Mother..."

Her desperate cry succeeded in halting Saya's progress, but only briefly.

"…Goodnight, Yumi," her mother called back over her shoulder, her frown deepening as a flicker of concern stole over her features. "Please try to get some rest."

With that, she departed, disappearing around a bend in the hall. Yumi stared after her, breathless with disbelief. Once again, she had failed.

The guards motioned her back inside, and numbly she obeyed them. As she padded down the short hallway to her bedroom, she passed an ivory-framed mirror hanging on the wall and was half surprised by her own reflection. She paused, taking a moment to study the image, her eyes tracing the pale, wasted features she dimly recognized as her own.

There had been a time in the past when men had risked their lives at her command, when a mere look from her had silenced warriors twice her age and strength. Now her eyes had lost their storm, and her words could not move even her mother to action. She felt not entirely real—like a wraith, suspended between the worlds of the living and the dead, unable to reside with either.

Slowly, she reached out, pressing her fingertips against the cool glass, forming a steeple with those of her mirror-self.

_My gods_, she prayed, her eyelids fluttering closed, _please tell me what I should do…_

An answer rose within her, one which had been lingering at the fringes of her mind ever since she had embarked on her ill-fated quest to bring Haru home. She could only hope that it was the voice of the gods, and not her own, speaking it to her now.

Her eyes reopened, falling at once upon the large trunk lying just beyond the entryway of her closet. It seemed to call to her as she looked upon it, and warily, she approached it, as if it were a slumbering beast which might at any moment awaken and devour her.

Shakily, she knelt before the oaken chest, her fingers fumbling at the latch. Beneath the lid lay nothing remarkable for a young lady to possess: silk shawls, strings of pearls, bottles of scent and painted fans. Yet underneath the trinkets, her fingers sought another, secret latch, and finding it, pulled the trunk's false bottom free.

The treasures at the true bottom of the chest radiated with warm, unearthly light, illuminating the darkness within. Spheres of every color rolled and tumbled as Yumi sifted through them, the glowing remnants of a life she had endeavored to leave behind. In the end, she overlooked her former favorites and selected only a precious few, inserting them into an iron-colored armlet she extracted from a corner of the trunk.

Satisfied with the materia she had chosen, Yumi pushed back the amber sleeve of her kimono and slipped the armlet over her wrist. She shivered as the cold metal slid past her skin to rest at last on the muscle of her upper arm. The bangle's weight felt both old and new, and she rose to her feet to inspect it more closely in a standing mirror.

The dark grey metal had been wrought in the shape of a dragon swallowing its tail, its eye sockets long since bereft of the rubies which had once been said to fill them. Like all else she come to inherit from House Kisaragi, this battered armlet was the relic of a more glorious past.

Yumi replaced her sleeve, and the ancient armlet vanished, though not completely. The hum of its enchantments lingered in her blood—an assurance of strength. A comfort and a temptation.

Yet Yumi's resolve had never been stronger. For the sake of her family and in the name of her gods, she had reclaimed this forsworn power, but the old ways would not reclaim her. Her path was clear.

She would see peace restored to the land of Wutai.

* * *

><p>Some thousand miles away, the General of SOLDIER sat alone in his new corner office on the 50th floor of Shinra HQ. It was late—terribly late—and he had a hundred matters demanding his immediate attention. There were missions to assign, new recruits to evaluate, loose ends from the war to tie up. Stacks upon stacks of paperwork lined the front edge of his desk, and his secretary would have plenty more waiting for him once those were through.<p>

Yet here he sat, with the sun far closer now to dawn than to dusk, attending to none of those tasks. Instead, a book lay open before him, seeming strikingly solid against the clear glass surface of his desk. Darkness pressed around him like a living thing, held in check only by the chrome lamp resting near his hand. It illuminated the vellum pages in a flood of light and cast his own pale features into sharp relief.

The book was _The Word of Da Chao_, and ever since he'd begun reading it some days ago, it had scarcely left his thoughts. He'd brought it here under the pretense of making the bookshelves lining his office walls look somewhat less desolate. Yet unlike the other texts he'd arranged to occupy the space, the small red prayer book hadn't remained on its shelf for long. In the days following his return to Midgar, a strange sort of melancholy had descended upon him. He found himself recalling, almost wistfully, the years he'd spent overseas, waging a war he now knew had been pointless.

There had been scenes of horror in Wutai unlike any he'd experienced before, but there had been moments of beauty as well. He remembered how the light had set the painted canyons aglow, how the unpolluted ocean had gleamed like a cut jewel, how majestic the capitol city had looked against the backdrop of a rising sun. How alive he'd felt when a pair of grey eyes had touched his briefly across a stretch of cobbled stone—how a drowning man must feel, when he has finally caught hold of the hand extended towards him and, gasping, breaks the surface.

Sephiroth understood the concept of nostalgia, though he could not recall ever feeling its pangs himself. Yet in light of his present symptoms, he had to wonder: could a man become homesick for a place that was never his home?

_Or was it long enough? _Lifting his cheek from his hand, the general gazed out at the city through the floor-length windows that bounded one corner of his office. Starless and hazy, the night sky was a formless mass of black, punctuated here and there by lights from nearby buildings. _Could three years in Wutai outweigh twenty spent here?_

Sephiroth supposed anything was possible, when the majority of one's childhood had been lived out behind a locked door.

His attention returned to the pages before him. He had no souvenirs from his stay in Wutai, not even a scar—Hojo's injections had seen to that. This book and his memories were all he had to remind him of that other life, with its varied landscapes and illusions of freedom.

For a while, he lost himself in the strange poetry of Da Chao's teaching. He read of how the wise men of old had purged a great evil from the land, of how men should strive to lead pure lives so as not to be visited by calamity once again. There were prophecies, predictions that the fractured land would be bound together in harmony; omens, that it would be torn apart.

_As the Earth circles the sun,_ he read,

_Casting summer lands in cold and darkness,_

_Winter descends upon the millennial kingdom—_

_And, frozen, it shatters._

Shatters…

In his mind's eye, a strange image began to play itself out—one not of ice, but of fire. Sephiroth saw a land both foreign and familiar, scorched and smoking, its buildings toppled, its people lying butchered in the streets, an unknown mountain presiding over its destruction. A silent, faceless witness.

From the sky, fire began to rain.

_**The mighty Serpent has taken wing**_, the Voice hissed suddenly in his mind, the fires of his waking dream spreading from the past to the present, engulfing _The Word_ in flame.

_**He has turned His eye away.**_

Sephiroth recoiled, his chair crashing to the floor as he leapt to his feet. The pages of the book charred and curled, the flames rising higher as the Voice screamed in hellish laughter, and Sephiroth grimaced, pupils shrinking to slits as he crushed his palms over his ears.

"…General?"

With the flip of a switch, fluorescent light flooded the room. Sephiroth looked up from the conflagration on his desk to find Tseng of the Turks standing in the doorway of his office, finger still poised on the switch. Adapting to the light change in an instant, the general's preternatural green eyes perceived all the details of his guest: the crisp black lines of his suit and tie, the long dark hair secured at his nape, the even darker eyes which were gazing steadily at him in question. A tense stillness froze the air. The buzz of the ceiling lights grated on Sephiroth's ears like an electric saw.

Then he remembered the book that was burning on his desk—

—Only when he glanced down at the spot where it lay, the flames had disappeared, and _The Word of Da Chao_ rested perfectly intact against the near-invisible desktop. His eyes seized at once upon the last two lines on the page, the lines the Voice had whispered virulently from the depths of his consciousness. The words stared back at him harmlessly enough, though as he read them again, a draft of heat caressed his spine.

Sephiroth frowned, flipping the book closed and placing a forbidding hand against the cover. Green eyes glanced up sharply.

"Was there something you needed, Agent Tseng?"

Hooking his thumbs in his pockets, the Turk advanced, his mild expression incongruent with the hawk-like shrewdness of his gaze. "I heard a sound from my office and came to investigate." A slight grin pulled at his lips. "Although, to be honest, I was just curious to see who'd still be working at such a late hour. I should have guessed it would be you—The Great Sephiroth, Shinra's tireless war machine."

The general bristled inwardly, sensing he was being mocked, yet his tone remained as cool and featureless as a frozen plain.

"'The Great Sephiroth.' Is that what they're calling me now?" A silver brow arched faintly. "Or are you trying to start a new trend?"

Tseng laughed, drawing to a stop before Sephiroth's desk. "I'm afraid I can't claim that bit of cleverness, General. You'd better get used to the title, though. From what I hear, it's a new favorite of President Shinra's, so it's likely to stick." His eyes strayed to the book beneath Sephiroth's bare hand, its name half hidden by long, splayed fingers. "_The Word of Da Chao_?" Tseng asked, a glint of amusement in his gaze. "Forgive me, General. I didn't realize you were trying to sleep."

"What?" Sephiroth's fingers curled into a loose fist over the red leather binding. The humming, too-bright lighting from the overhead fixtures was beginning to grate on his nerves…although the Turk's presence wasn't helping matters.

"A joke," Tseng answered with a shake of his head. "It's just that I've yet to discover a more tedious, exhausting read."

"You find the book that dull?"

"I do, General. In fact, the only thing I find remotely _interesting_ about it is that it's sitting on your desk."

Again, that calculating look entered the Turk's eyes, as if the motives of the man before him could be deduced from his actions like variables in a mathematical expression. Needless to say, having suffered more than a lifetime's worth of such clinical scrutiny, Sephiroth resented Tseng's attempts at analysis.

"Wutai is your homeland, is it not?" the general deflected, crossing his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his black t-shirt strained against the curves of his biceps—a not-so-subtle intimidation. "I'd have thought you'd hold its religion in higher regard."

Tseng smiled thinly. Reaching forward, he plucked the red book from Sephiroth's desk and began thumbing idly through the pages.

"A true antique," he commented in a wry voice. "Its words might as well be carved in stone." Sephiroth watched as he turned, walking over to the rows of black bookshelves lining the eastern wall. "If you must know, General, it was outdated notions such as these that drove me from Wutai in the first place."

Without hesitation, Tseng returned the prayer book to the exact spot it had occupied on the shelf prior to its retrieval—an action that would have struck Sephiroth as suspicious, had he not already assumed his new office was bugged. Still, he had to wonder at the Turk's deliberate display. The message behind it seemed clear: _You are being watched_. But was it merely a reminder, or—Sephiroth considered darkly—a warning?

"Of course, there are a few things I miss about my homeland," Tseng resumed, looking thoughtfully at _The Word of Da_ Chao before his dark glittering eyes slid toward Sephiroth's. "The ladies of Wutai are quite lovely, wouldn't you agree?"

The general made no reply. In the chilly silence that ensued, Agent Tseng wandered back over to Sephiroth's desk, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"It's said that Lady Yumi Kisaragi is a firm adherent of the old teachings," he stated in an off-hand manner, as if this comment bore no connection to his previous remark. "Maybe you noticed this during our visit to the Capitol?"

"Yes," Sephiroth answered shortly, remembering the better—and worse—parts of his meeting with Lady Yumi in the Pagoda of the Five Mighty Gods. "I had the misfortune of disturbing her evening prayers."

"I'm sure she didn't take offense."

"No," Sephiroth agreed, a slight scowl on his face as he looked askance, "not until I brought up the subject of her dead brother."

"…Dead brother?"

Though the general did not see the unease that flitted across Tseng's features, he did hear it in his tone. Shadowed, yet perpetually aglow, green eyes narrowed as they turned, locking onto the Turk's wary gaze.

And then he knew.

With startling clarity, Sephiroth realized exactly whose eyes and ears had been spying for Rufus Shinra.

"What has he promised you?"

His sudden demand dropped like a hammer, hard and blunt, resounding in the quiet of the room. And for an instant, he saw it—the raw fear that surfaced in the Turk's midnight gaze, flaring wide his even darker pupils. Then it was gone, smoothed over like wrinkles in a stretch of silk.

"I can't say I follow you, General," Tseng said evenly, slipping his hands into his pockets as he turned on one shiny black heel, "but it's been rude of me to keep you from your work. Please forgive the intrusion."

Sephiroth watched as the slim suited man made his way to the door. As the Turk reached a finger towards the light switch, he glanced back, a small smile on his lips.

"Oh, and you can rest assured…"

With a tiny click, the darkness rushed in, yet Sephiroth could still see quite clearly the outline of Tseng's smiling face.

"Haru Kisaragi is alive and well."

* * *

><p>Days later, as the sun set over the capitol city of Wutai, Haru Kisaragi made his final preparations from the scrubbed wooden table of a quayside tavern. Outside on the docks, his men had already begun to assemble, some posing as workmen and sailors while the rest gathered inside the holds of several cargo ships, stocked with caches of weapons and armor for the assault.<p>

All Wutanese soldiers had been required to surrender sword and uniform under the disarmament clause of the peace treaty, and securing adequate supplies for Haru's coup had been no small task. Establishing his base of operations in the Red Light District had been the first step, and with time, Jho's gold and Haru's growing network of shadowy acquaintances had seen his makeshift army well provided for.

Of course, stockpiling the contraband had presented its own challenge.

"All's well, m'lord?"

Haru looked up to find the tavern owner Hono ambling towards him with a bottle of whisky. He leaned heavily on his right leg, the other having been damaged some years back, long before the war with Shinra.

"Well enough," the former commander replied, brushing a lock of dark hair from his brow. "Have your girls anything to report?"

"Nay, m'lord, nothin' what should concern you," the grizzled man said as he topped off Haru's cup. "Bunch o' blue suits jus' standin' about near the palace walls, some of 'em snoozin' in their helms. There was a black suit pokin' 'round the port earlier, but seems Miss Lin convinced him there was better places for that."

Haru smirked, raising the cup to his lips. Across the room, a few of Hono's girls stood laughing and drinking at the dilapidated bar. Catching his eye, one of the rougher looking whores shot him a wink above the crumpled edge of her fan.

"I wanted to thank you again for helping me smuggle the equipment aboard," Haru said over the rim of his cup, "especially given the short notice."

"No thanks needed, m'lord. Anythin' for ol' Goro's kin." Hono's black eyes hardened, glinting like studs of onyx in his leathery skin. "Spared me neck from the sword, yer father did, though 'twas no concern of his. I'm not like to soon forget."

"Still," Haru said with a frown, "it couldn't have been an easy task, persuading all those hard-nosed seacaptains to leave their precious ships in the hands of strangers."

"Aye, I 'ad to call in a few debts, tha's for true, but 'twas no great trouble." Hono smiled toothily, revealing a mouth full of gold. "Them captains owed me, af'er all, and ol' Hono _always_ gets what's owed 'im."

Haru took another slow sip.

He didn't doubt the tavern owner's words. Even amongst the Wutanese upper class, Dockside Hono had a reputation for collecting on his debts, one way or another. He was as cunning and ruthless as the Raikou pirates who'd once prowled the coasts of Wutai. From what Haru had been told by his father, Hono had spent a great deal of his youth sailing and trading with the Raikou—even adopting their brutish way of speaking as his own—and, if the rumors were true, the old man had connections to them still.

The ex-commander did his best not to think on that too closely.

"I'm going outside to check on my men," Haru said, rising from the table. "You'll let me know if anything changes?"

"Aye, m'lord," Hono answered. "You 'ave me word."

With a nod, Haru turned and made for the door, the wooden floor planks creaking beneath his boots with every step. Once outside, he breathed in deeply, nose prickling in the briny air. Darkness had fallen over the city like a heavy shroud, and in the distance, fire bloomed as guards began their nightly task of lighting the torches along the palace walls.

Yumi would be visiting the temple about this time, to offer up prayers and incense to the gods of Wutai. In his mind, he saw her kneeling at the altar of Da Chao, her face serene, long lashes throwing shadows over her fair cheeks. Her saw her hair tumbling freely down her shoulders, endlessly dark, her pink lips parting softly, and he ached for her, craving the agony of her touch.

He could become Lord of Wutai. He could destroy the Shinra and liberate all the peoples of the world, and it would make no difference to her. Her gods would still be her gods, and he would still be her brother.

And it would never be enough.

Haru's gloved hand clutched at the hilt of his katana, his throat dry. The ocean waves crashed behind him, yet he scarcely heard them above the roar of his own, impotent fury.

_Why, _he thought fiercely, glaring up at the unfeeling sky._ What have I done to deserve this accursed life?_

"Sir?"

Haru tensed, fingers tightening reflexively around the sword hilt.

"Shiro," he said without turning, "what's the status of my men?"

"Over three hundred accounted for so far, sir…equipped and awaiting your command."

"Good." Haru faced him. "I've received word from Jho, confirming the time and location of tonight's meeting. We'll be departing shortly."

Shiro nodded. Even in the spare, greasy light of the port lanterns, Haru could see the uneasiness in his friend's expression.

"…Understood, sir," the brown-haired warrior mumbled, looking back toward the ships. "I'll go inform them, then…"

"Wait."

Shiro froze mid-step, glancing at Haru. "Yes, sir?"

"I have a request to ask of you, Shiro," the ex-commander began stiffly. "As soon as we've breached the palace walls, I want you to find my sister. Find her and keep her safe."

"Yumi?" Shiro's brow wrinkled in confusion. "But…why? We won't be attacking the Fire Pagoda."

"No, but once the assault begins, she may try to interfere," Haru replied, scowling. "I won't be able to fight properly if I'm worried about her safety."

Shiro frowned. "But I thought…I thought I'd be fighting at your side."

"I can take care of myself," Haru said hotly, his voice cooling a bit when he saw the stricken look on his best friend's face. "Please, Shiro…do this for me. You're the only one I can trust."

Shiro smiled weakly, tugging at his messy hair. "…Of course, sir. I-I'll do as you say."

Haru grinned, clapping a hand to Shiro's shoulder. "Thanks, friend. Now, go—see to my warriors. I'll join you shortly."

As Shiro hastened away, Haru fixed his gaze once more on the faraway flames of Kisaragi palace.

_Little sister, you wanted me to return to this place. Soon, you'll have your wish._

Wind churned the salt-laden air, sweeping away his doubts. In that distant darkness, his destiny loomed before him.

There was no turning back now.

* * *

><p>"More tea, my lady?"<p>

Yumi turned away from the window with a faint smile. "Thank you, Kana."

The little girl refilled her teacup at the small square table, raising it toward Yumi with steady hands. A week or so of palace life had wrought a remarkable change in Yumi's young ward. Her face had lost its sickly pallor. The knife-edged sharpness of her jaw and collarbones had begun to soften. Though her blue-and-white-checked yukata still didn't hang exactly right on her thin frame, it didn't swallow her like the red silk kimono she'd been sporting at their first meeting. In Yumi's opinion, the cotton yukata suited Kana quite well—better even than it had suited herself at that age, on the few occasions she'd been forced into wearing it.

Still smiling lightly, Yumi accepted the teacup, watching as the young girl snuck an extra sugar cube into her own drink. At first, Kana had been hesitant to even sit down on a cushion at Yumi's behest, let alone touch or take things of her own accord. When Yumi had questioned her about her nervousness, the girl had tearfully confessed that she was afraid she might break Yumi's beautiful things, as she had broken so many of Madame Ero's in the past.

It seemed to Yumi that Kana's clumsiness was born entirely of fear. With each passing day spent in the safety and comfort of the palace, her ward was blossoming into a confident and graceful young lady.

And so, Yumi found yet another reason stirring her to action.

Sipping her tea, her grey eyes strayed toward the window, sharp as steel. So far, President Shinra's visit had gone without incident. There had been no displays of aggression, no rioting in the streets. The Wutanese had received the President and his entourage with humility and grudging acceptance.

By all appearances her people seemed perfectly cowed, yet Yumi knew what dangers could lurk beneath a surface of apparent calm. The warriors of Wutai had fallen to SOLDIER as straw before the scythe, cut down without a second thought as to their nature. Yet now Shinra stood in the middle of the field, with only a dull blade in hand to tackle any leavings which remained.

The President and his men had no concept of her people and their ninja ways, and few eyes which were keen enough to discern the signs of danger. It had fallen upon Yumi to keep her own vigil throughout the last few days—watching, waiting—the ouroboros armlet a constant fixture at her side. Though she still slept little, she had found her health fast returning under a renewed appetite and a strong sense of purpose.

She had both hoped and feared to catch a glimpse of Agent Tseng either from her bedroom window or during her seemingly casual patrols of the palace grounds. She wanted another chance to speak with him, to learn more fully what he knew of her brother's plans. Traitor though he was, the man did not seem to be entirely without honor. Perhaps if she confessed her own suspicions about Haru's intentions, he might be able to help her stop him quietly, before her brother had a chance to bring his bloody schemes to fruition.

But another part of her berated herself for such foolish thinking. That Turk was her enemy. If she brought such allegations to light before an agent of Shinra, more than likely she'd only be ensuring her brother an early death, and giving the remaining rebels yet another cause for vengeance.

For all her indecision regarding Tseng, Yumi hadn't seen him once since Shinra's arrival. He might still be spying in town, or he could have even returned to Midgar. Either way, the possibility of negotiating with him no longer appeared to be an option.

In the meantime, Yumi had ascertained, as best she could, the measures General Heidegger had taken to secure the palace against attack. About five hundred men patrolled the grounds, with perhaps a fifth of that number holding watch over the perimeter and the main gates. From what Yumi had overheard the soldiers say, an additional reserve force had been stationed outside the palace in the old city barracks—perhaps several thousand strong.

No doubt Shinra's spies were positioned somewhere in-between, ready to alert the reserve troops in the event of an attack. Whatever small army Haru had managed to assemble would quickly find itself outnumbered.

But the fight and its odds were irrelevant; the cost, inconsequential. Haru had always been ruthless in meting out his revenge. Yumi had witnessed such callousness too many times before to misinterpret the patterns in his thinking. She recognized this would-be battle for what it truly was: a glorified attempt at assassination.

The success of such a plan depended necessarily on the elements of surprise and diversion, and above all, speed. Most of Heidegger's troops were young, green, and poorly trained. In the initial confusion, they would likely break rank, leaving the President in a vulnerable position. A quick strike might well put an end to Shinra, but only if executed perfectly.

Yumi placed her empty teacup on the window ledge without so much as a downward glance. Outside, the atmosphere of the palace was quiet and relaxed, drowsy with complacence. As the days passed, the Shinra soldiers had grown increasingly lax in their duties. They smoked and chatted, lounged about and carried on. She had even seen a few actually _sleeping_ at their posts. Unsuspecting as children, they seemed, now that the Wutanese had chanced to remain meek and friendly for more than forty-eight hours straight.

_Idiots, _Yumi fumed inwardly. _And that fool Heidegger is their king!_

She was reminded, rather ominously, of that strange, bloated tranquility which often preceded the end of a violent storm. _"Leviathan is resting His wings,"_ her father would say, a peculiar glint in his eye.

Before the winds rose and the rain fell, lightning would streak through the sky like a signal flare, heralding the death of that heavy calm. Haru, too, was waiting for something—for _someone_, perhaps, to give him a sign. Before he attacked, he would need to be certain of the President's whereabouts, and for that, he needed an informant.

_But who?_ Yumi wondered. And most importantly, _when_?

Behind her, the screen door opened with a sudden clatter. Kana gasped, nearly spilling her tea, as Yumi turned to find Minnea Jho stalking through the open door of the parlor with her cheeks aflame, her prominent gold hairpins and iridescent blue-green skirts making her look rather like an infuriated peacock.

"The _nerve_ of that man!" she exclaimed as she stormed over to the couch, collapsing against the silk cushions with a huff. She crossed her arms over her ample chest and glared over at Yumi. "I'm so angry I could die!"

"What happened?" Yumi asked, brows knitting together in mild concern. "Weren't you going to dine with the Shinra officers tonight?"

"I _was_," Minnea snapped, "but apparently I'm no longer _allowed_."

Yumi's brow lifted in surprise.

"…By whose orders?"

"_Father's_," the blonde spat in distaste. "He told me to return to my room, that I was not to go anywhere near the Water Pagoda for the rest of the night. I had given _my word_ to several officers that I would be there, but he didn't care! He even threatened to put a guard on me if I didn't do as he said. A _guard_! How insulting…"

A tense silence ensued as Minnea seethed and Yumi mulled over her words, her lips curving downward in a troubled frown. Something about Minnea's story did not sit well with her. It was rare indeed for Kanto Jho to deny his daughter anything, let alone forbid her what she wanted in such a harsh manner as this.

Since the Shinra troops' arrival, Minnea and some of the more flirtatious society girls had made a habit of socializing with the high-ranking officers of Heidegger's army. Yumi's friend had dined with them on more than one occasion in the Water Pagoda, and her father had made no complaint. He had even permitted her to attend President Shinra's welcome banquet there, although Yumi herself had not been present due to her confinement.

For Commander Jho to act this way towards Minnea struck Yumi as suspicious. She had never been fond of the man. He had always seemed unpleasant to her, but _treasonous_? Yumi shook her head, uncertain.

Yet she could not ignore the jolt of intuition running down her spine, the instinctive dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. The night was too calm. Too unwary. Suddenly, she felt restless, hyper-aware of her surroundings. The brightness of the candles, the rush of the wind outside her window, the tingle of her armlet's enchantment beneath her skin.

"Minnea," she said, her own voice sounding far away, "do you have any other plans for this evening?"

"No," her friend groused, nevertheless glancing up at Yumi curiously. "Why do you ask?"

"My mother has offered to teach Kana calligraphy, but I think she would benefit greatly from the instruction of a true master."

"A true master?" Minnea laughed a little, blushing as she brushed a few golden strands from her cheek. "Yumi, you're too much! Although Lady Wu _did_ tell me, in confidence, that my work is among the finest she's ever seen."

Yumi smiled. Yes, she knew—Minnea had already shared this comment with her at least a dozen times.

"So you'll help Kana, then?"

"Well," Minnea replied with a wave, "I suppose it can't be more boring than sitting around in these rooms all night! And gods _know_ the poor girl needs all the help she can get with _that_ kind of upbringing."

Kana flushed, ducking her head in shame. Jaw clenching slightly, Yumi laid a reassuring hand on her ward's shoulder.

"Good," she said to Minnea in a tight voice. "Mother is expecting her soon. If you could help her prepare, I'm sure she'd be very grateful. I'll send Kana along shortly."

"Yes, yes," Minnea chirped as she stood from the couch, walking primly from the room.

_Forgive me, Mama_, Yumi thought guiltily as she heard the screen door slide shut behind her exasperating friend. She knew her mother cared for Minnea's company about as much as she cared for flies in her tea.

There was a light, familiar tugging at her sleeve.

"My lady…" a quiet voice ventured hesitantly from her side, "something's wrong, isn't it?"

Yumi turned, looking down at her young ward's frowning face. Blue eyes studied Yumi's carefully. The girl was certainly far more perceptive than she appeared.

"Yes, Kana." Godo's niece knelt down, gently sweeping Kana's dark bangs from her eyes. "I'm afraid so."

Pale fingers twisted in the dark grey fabric of Yumi's sleeve. The lady's eyes widened in surprise.

"Please…" the child whispered, her lower lip trembling. "Please, stay with me."

Yumi glanced away briefly. "…I can't."

She took Kana's hands with her as she rose. Her grip tightened as she fixed her ward with a stern look.

"Now, listen to me, Kana. Tonight, the palace may fall under attack. When you reach my mother's rooms, I want you to lock the doors behind you. Try to stay calm so that Mama and Minnea don't do anything rash. If a fight does break out, tell them to remain in the back parlor with the doors locked and not to make a sound. Most of all, _do not_ open the doors for any man whose voice you don't know."

Kana stared at her with large, fearful eyes. "What if…what if the bad men get inside, anyway?"

Yumi's mouth thinned into a grim line. _What if, indeed…_

If the enemy—and Yumi could no longer be sure _who_ in fact that might be—did happen to force their way into her mother's rooms, what could three defenseless women possibly do? Kana might be young, but Yumi knew with sickening certainty that she was not young enough to escape a woman's fate. It wasn't fair. When men waged war with one another, women always seemed to be the ones to suffer most.

There was only one course of action Yumi could advise, loathe though she was to do so. Wordlessly, she turned from Kana and made her way to the dreaded trunk at the bottom of her closet. The girl followed her mutely at a distance, still hovering in the doorway of the parlor as Yumi approached her with a tiny glass vial, filled with pure white powder. Slowly, she held it out to her, her lungs burning in her chest.

"If that should happen—if things should go horribly wrong," Yumi began haltingly, "sprinkle this in your tea and drink it. Do the same for Mama and Minnea as well."

Kana had reached for the vial automatically, but at Yumi's grave tone, she paused, glancing at her uncertainly. "What is it…?"

Yumi would not lie to her. She said, simply, "Poison."

The young girl started, retracting her hand as if bitten. She stared at Yumi in horror. "N-no! Please, my lady, I-"

"You can, and you _will_," Yumi stated firmly, tucking the vial into the blue sash at Kana's waist. "Promise me you will do this, Kana. Do you know the ways a man can hurt a woman?" she continued mercilessly as the girl flinched. "Some things are worse than death."

Tears welled in Kana's eyes, her checkered skirt bunching beneath her white-knuckled fingers. The look she wore stripped Yumi to the bone. "I-I know…"

_And she would, wouldn't she? With an upbringing like hers_, Yumi recalled Minnea's words bitterly. Her face fell as she gathered her young ward to her chest, smoothing her hand over her back in a soothing gesture, the girl's soft, dark braid grazing the backs of her fingers.

"You are a strong girl, Kana," she whispered, her eyes closing briefly. "Thank you..."

They parted, Kana making her way toward the door. As the girl's hand touched the screen, she glanced back at Yumi in sudden concern, her other hand rising to the middle of her sash, where the vial of poison remained hidden from view.

"My lady," she said with a scrunched brow, "what about you? What if something bad…happens to you?"

"Don't worry about me, Kana," Yumi replied, her slight smile not quite reaching her eyes. "I have another vial in my trunk."

Of course, that vial was empty. But the girl didn't need to know that.

Kana nodded, seeming somewhat appeased. With one last glance, she slipped through the heavy screen, Yumi following her a few minutes later. As she turned down the hall, she heard the heavy footsteps of a palace guardian falling into step behind her. Scowling slightly, Yumi tucked her arms into her sleeves, her fingertips brushing the warm metal band above her elbow.

"I'm going to the Water Pagoda," she called back coolly, "to speak with my uncle."

"Very well, my lady," came the guard's muffled response. "I shall accompany you."

"…As if I have a choice in the matter," Yumi grumbled, picking up her pace.

The half-mile walk passed quickly, the young lady and her escort arriving at the steps of the Water Pagoda in what felt like the blink of eye. Among the most grand and sacred of the palace buildings, the Water Pagoda was dedicated to Wutai's patron god, Leviathan, and wrought in the shape of coiled serpent, the peaked roofs of the two-story, octagonal building resembling the scaled ridges of His back—the entrance before them, His gaping maw. Two giant discs of grey hematite glared back at Yumi from the building's façade as she ascended the lacquered steps, passing beneath the wooden fangs of the serpent's upper jaw.

Yumi supposed there was a reason House Kisaragi had traditionally hosted guests here. Even to her, the dragon-shaped building was an imposing sight.

The moment Yumi crossed the threshold, a middle-aged servant in a black yukata hurried over to greet her, bowing deeply. A silver sash about the woman's waist betrayed her high rank.

"My lady?" she asked politely.

"Is Lord Godo dining with President Shinra?"

"No, my lady, he has just left the dining hall."

Yumi exhaled through her nose. "Good. Where is he now?"

"In the audience chamber on the second floor, awaiting the arrival of President Shinra and his men," the servant replied, arching a brow as Godo's niece began to turn. When she saw Yumi heading towards the staircase to the left of the entrance, the older woman hurried to intercept her. "My lady!—Lord Godo and his advisors will be receiving the Shinra delegation in a matter of minutes…"

"So you've said," Yumi responded curtly, not slowing her progress in the least. "Thank you for your diligence."

The servant gaped at her like a fish out of water, but had no authority to further dissuade the lady from her course. With a much shallower bow than the first, the woman excused herself from Yumi's presence, and the young lady and her silent, bronze-clad attendant moved swiftly up the stairs and through the twisting hallways of the upper floor. Arriving at last before the expansive screen doors of the audience chamber, Yumi paused a moment to gather her resolve and with a firm hand pulled back the screen.

As she'd expected, her uncle was not alone. He stood near the head of a large, oblong table, ten of his advisors either standing or sitting on cushioned benches around it. Among them were a few of his former commanders, now re-commissioned as diplomatic leaders after the disbanding of the Wutanese army. All the men in the austere meeting room turned at Yumi's entrance, regarding her with varying amounts of welcome.

Staniv Kosuke, the young Master of Arms, actually smiled at her from where he sat, lounging cat-like at the table, azure eyes twinkling beneath the brim of his signature white-and-blue cap. The youngest son of Aido Kosuke, City-Lord of Tousei, and his foreign wife, Staniv had spent several years training beside Yumi as Lord Godo's ward. There had always been something of a good-natured rivalry between them.

_Well,_ Yumi conceded inwardly, _good-natured on his part, at least._

Most of the others simply stared at her in confusion, frowning as they no doubt attempted to piece together the riddle of her presence. Briefly, she met the gaze of Ren Kane, former commander of the southern army, whose forces had been decimated in the battle at Yanji Canyon. As he looked at her, something other than mere speculation darkened the stormy color of his eyes. House Kane was distantly related to her own, and the grey eyes of the Kisaragi line would occasionally surface in their descendants.

_Though not in his son_, she reflected with a subtle pang, tearing her gaze away.

When at last she locked eyes with the man who stood across the room from her, near her uncle's side, Yumi was taken aback by the sheer hostility in his expression. Thin nostrils flaring, Kanto Jho glared at her in outrage, his normally sallow cheeks turning an ugly shade of puce.

"What are you doing here, girl? This is no place for women."

Ignoring his outburst, Yumi inclined her head demurely towards Lord Godo, whose reaction to her presence remained unreadable. "Uncle, may I speak with you for a moment?"

"Go and speak with your mother," Jho growled at her instead. "The Lord of Wutai has no time for your frivolous concerns."

Yumi's eyes slanted towards him, flinty and cool. "I do not believe I was addressing you, Commander Jho—"

"_Chief Advisor_," he corrected with a sneer, turning his glare on her uncle. "Do you see, my lord, how ignorant this girl is? You must order her to leave before she says something damning in the presence of the Shinra."

Stately and worn, Lord Godo stepped forward as if emerging from the canvas of one of the chamber's aged murals, and cast a sharp glance at his advisor.

"This girl is my niece, Kanto." A disapproving frown weighted his lips. "You forget your place."

Yumi did not fail to notice the way Jho's features hardened at this reminder.

"However," her uncle continued, now looking toward his niece, "my Chief Advisor is correct. I'm afraid I do not have time to speak with you privately, Yumi."

"Very well."

All the air in the room seemed to still as she sank to her knees before him.

"I will ask you here, then." She raised her head, meeting her uncle's stunned gaze. "Please allow me a place at your table of advisors, Uncle. As my father provided you with honest, loyal counsel, so shall I."

The silence that followed her request was deafening. Women holding positions of authority was something of a taboo in Wutanese culture. Young girls were encouraged to practice swordplay as an art, to study religion and philosophy as part of their education—not to become military commanders, and certainly _not_ to serve as royal advisors. Leadership was not a trait most Wutanese men desired in their wives, but rather quietness and submission.

Before her father's death, Yumi had done everything in her power to flout the rules of tradition, to prove that she was not hewn of the same cloth as those timid creatures to whose ranks society demanded she join. Back then, as now, she had attempted to go against the grain of expectations.

Unfortunately, it had not ended well.

"My lord, this is absurd," Jho said through gritted teeth, breaking the heavy silence. "No woman is fit to serve on your council, least of all your niece. Her behavior during the siege of Lo Dai has already proven her incapable to the task—"

"That is enough," Yumi interrupted quietly, rising to her feet. "I have made mistakes, it's true. But so have the rest of you, if you can put your pride aside for a moment and face the truth." She glanced meaningfully at the former High Commander. "I am only a woman, but you are only men, and we are all in a dangerous position. Those of you who know me can attest to my capabilities in battle. The fighting may be over between Wutai and Shinra, but the war for our nation's welfare has only just begun. I would see our dealings with Shinra carried out peacefully, without further bloodshed, as my father would have wanted."

Yumi's jaw snapped shut at the end of this admission. She didn't trust herself to say anything more along those lines, for fear she'd lose her nerve. Another stretch of silence followed her speech, but she paid it little heed, as the considering look entering her uncle's eyes absorbed all of her attention.

This time, it was the light, jovial voice of Staniv Kosuke that pierced the quiet of the room.

"Well, _I_ don't mind if Yumi stays, my lord."

He winked as the young lady looked at him in surprise. The murmur of general assent that followed Staniv's declaration amazed her even more.

"We do not have time for this, my lord," Jho grumbled to her uncle, his skin taking on an oily sheen in the low orange light. "President Shinra and his advisors will arrive at any moment." There was a glimmer of unease in his black eyes as they slid toward Yumi. "You should return to your rooms at once, _my lady_. Stay with Minnea, and do not interrupt our affairs again."

_"Stay with Minnea…"_

Yumi's eyes narrowed slightly at his words. Something in the way he'd said them had sounded almost desperate.

"Yumi."

The sound of her uncle's voice abruptly ended her musings. She turned toward him at once.

"I will consider your request." Lord Godo held her gaze, the skin beneath his eyes creased and darkened with weariness. "For now, however, I must ask that you go."

"As you wish, Uncle," Yumi said, bowing quickly to hide her disappointment. "I humbly await your decision."

She straightened, casting a swift glance about the room.

"Gentlemen," she said evenly, excusing herself from the audience chamber without further delay.

* * *

><p>So distracted was Yumi by her thoughts that she did not even notice President Shinra and his retinue approaching from the opposite end of the hall, a pair of ice-blue eyes following her retreating form with interest until she disappeared around a sharp bend in the paneled wall, the profile of her face flashing briefly into view as she turned.<p>

"Who was that girl?" the President of Shinra Electric asked a moment later, his gaze shifting to the fat man waddling at his side.

Heidegger's shaggy dark brow furrowed in thought, but he could not place her. Even if he'd gotten more than a glimpse, he doubted he'd have had any better luck. All these damned Wutanese looked the same to him.

"Can't say, sir," he answered with a laugh. "Probably just the brat of one of Kisaragi's lackeys."

The President made a sound of acknowledgement in his throat, regarding Heidegger as one regards a heavy burden which must be endured. Admittedly, the Head of Public Safety was a heavier one than most, but he had his uses. With few exceptions, President Shinra believed utility to be the key factor justifying his subordinates' existence. Although in Heidegger's case, the President found himself questioning even that.

The doors to the audience chamber slid soundlessly open on their wooden tracks. President Shinra stepped through with Heidegger at his heels, the uniformed man still chortling like a buffoon. Pulling a cigar from his jacket pocket, Shinra scowled.

He was truly beginning to regret not bringing Sephiroth along.


End file.
